40. Fakely

Bloggards, it’s time for another entry. What neural pathway shall we go down today? Surely one that mixes risk and reward like 2 cycle oil and gasoline. The only problem is that I have no mildly risky stuff to pour into a gallon of rewarding prose, no greenish/blue hue to remind me not to pour it into the snowblower, which may be why the year old blower wouldn’t start this past winter.  I may have to look into this further. Injecting the wrong fuel into the right engine may be like doing the wrong thing for the right reason: nothing good can result from such a flummoxture.

Throughout my days I talk with many burdened clients. Stop! I know already what you are thinking here– “How can one with such a tenuous grasp on reality be of any service to the afflicted?” Well, if you have to wait for the perfect therapist before diving into therapy, you’ll be on the diving board for a long, long time. First, there is no such person. Second, there is no perfect time. Third, I forget what should go here, but I thought it seemed more impressive to have three items in a string. So, I hope we have put that baby to bed. (Bounce, bounce, bounce on that board. Something will come along. Ah, yes. Water in the pool.)

Lately I have been pondering the real pandemic of fakeness among otherwise high functioning and lovely young single ladies. I’m not saying they are fake; they are saying it. Now I believe in the old saying, “Fake it till you make it.”  This adage implies that there is some learning curve involved, some conditioning that takes place until the near approximation becomes the achieved goal. But these young women work hard at showing the world a high gloss nail polish shell while being exhausted and empty inside, feeling like week old tapioca pudding lost in the back of the fridge. What a pressurized contrast! What a stretching of unmatched metaphors, like two socks that have little to do with one another. What a… okay, enough drama already! You get it, right?

That’s when I show them my Taiwanese egg within an egg within an egg. At the core is a solid pink egg which I equate to their true selves. “If you deny it or remove it, then your entire being becomes hollow and fragile.” Some sort of self empathy arises as they connect with the symbolic wooden fetus, their child within. It’s not a verbal connection; maybe preverbal…so it’s inarguable. There is no preverbal counterargument or denial of the fetus, especially for fertile young women. And so the cognitive dissonance rises. The Anxiety Spider climbs up the water spout.

“I don’t want to be fake; I just don’t want to be hurt.”  I get this for the moment. Unfortunately one moment’s fakeness leads to another and another turn in the maze away from the true self. Their sense of direction and purpose and meaning are swallowed up by the busyness of navigating the maze of illusions, mirrors, and false doors. They don’t realize that running a false self sucks the energy out of their true being. They run faster and faster to keep up appearances for fake friends who don’t reciprocate in time or concern or actions or costs. And their hollowness becomes cavernous. The underground river of consciousness has eroded the soft rock of their foundations. Oh what pretty and fragile stilts remain!  So hollow, you can hear an echo when you call…”who are you?” and the echo cries back…”I don’t kn00000oooow.” The little pink wooden fetus floats by on that river hourly, ‘but what would everyone (who doesn’t matter to begin with) think if I stepped into the river and rescued her?’

My question is this: what would you think if you rescued your true self and the fake one washed away? Every once in a while on Antiques Roadshow or Pawn Stars someone brings in an overvalued fake item. As the expert is called in, the owner salivates, secretly adding decimal places to the estimated value. Then the authority pronounces it a fake, a movie prop, a forgery.  Worth little. Game over. I don’t want one of my customers to be one of those customers.

Don’t sell your hair in Vegas. Find your chipped-tooth truth and live a genuine life.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s