Are we the real us?

Recently I watched a special on the late Mae West, and apart from her full and interesting life, something notable struck me.

Several times interviewees who recalled her made similar comments. In essence they said that she had so become the persona of public person Mae West that the real person Mae West had somehow disappeared. I hope I wasn’t the only person who thought that rather odd, particularly so given the fact that the interviewees were theater people.

Let’s look at this idea. Do any of us know anyone who isn’t some public persona? Really, now. If we do, that person must be really uninteresting. Imagine being just yourself, just that little neighborhood girl or boy who, even after several decades, has never moved beyond that person. And even if you can think of one, hasn’t that person worked at maintaining that image long beyond its shelf life?

Somewhere during the growing up period we all attach our name to some personality, some image we think is interesting or cool. Then, that image comes into play in all our actions and reactions. With each day, each interaction, we place another layer of varnish over that image, and by the time we are into full maturity, we have polished and perfected that image. We have fully become that person.

That’s how personality grows, like a bit of grit that over the years becomes a pearl.

In simplistic terms, we are the respectable banker, the intellectual, the town drunk, the bleeding heart, the class clown, the jock, the ditzy blond, the steady worker, the good mom or the pillar of the community. We could all have tee shirts made with our labels printed on them.

At the heart of this is the question of whether we are something fully realized at birth or some work in progress with ourselves as both the artist and architect. I believe that few moments of serious reflection will answer that question for any honest person.

I know that long ago I started to think about who this person with the strange name, “Meade” was all about. It couldn’t, as I believed, be the insecure, shy and boring child I was at the time. I was more than that, a troubled, creative child, a complex and convoluted soul, a character, perhaps even more. With each layer, I grew, and I liked the direction I was growing in, so I added more layers until I became whoever I am today, and like Mae West, I can’t even relate to any question as to whether this is the real me or a persona. It is all I have, all I am, and it took many years to evolve.

Yes, each day I rise, get into costume and prepare for the role of me. I’ve perfected this role; I’m better at being me than anyone else, and I know many people who enjoy the performance. Beside, I haven’t a clue how to be anyone else.

But no, I don’t deserve an academy award