A close friend shared a poem with me today. I enjoyed reading it, but I enjoyed being trusted with it even more.
I’m tired of the masks.
My friend could have kept the poem to himself. Pretend to always be strong, or normal, or whatever. But he didn’t. He sent me something that was true about him, and I love him for it.
Those are the only people I want anymore. The real ones. Because we can smile, and curtsey, and dress up, but it’s going by so fast, and all that doesn’t matter. I learn from the vulnerability of the people I love and respect. They fuel me. They keep me going.
I don’t need every conversation to be deep. Let’s talk about the afternoon lineup on Food TV (my Mom and I love Barefoot Contessa).
Just don’t pretend the mask is real. That you’re not in their somewhere.
After awhile, it gets old playing the cool guy.
Because I’m not him.
And neither is he.