That's right... the one day that you get out of every year to adopt a new identity and not be thrown into the mental institution and all I want to dress up as is Casey. I feel like I haven't had the chance to be just me in a while.
Oh, sure, I've worn various Casey Masks this whole year - HelpfulCasey at work, happy to show you where your endless array of vocal scores are because you'd never set foot in the library otherwise. EagerToPleaseCasey often shows up in orchestra, working hard to play my very best and never make a mistake in front of the intimidating Russian conductor. DefensiveWithARoboticSmileCasey is the only one I can take to lessons, and StressedAndDisheveledCasey usually shows up when Tom or Lindsay are around and I have a chance to complain about how busy I really feel I am.
Once you take off my masks, what's left?
Here's the answer: it's actually the person I'm supposed to commit to every other day but Halloween, because when you get right down to it, the people you love don't ask you to be anything but yourself. This is a fact that only a small part of me realizes.
So I grin and laugh and take deep breaths and just try to remember that I don't think I'm in control - that I've realized this before, and there's something greater at work here. I don't know what the greater force is, and I'm not inclined to trust it. I think I realize I pretty much have to, though, with little choice as my alternative. Perhaps this is my idea of faith.
It's when I have great conversations with Mom, or get that random hello message from Kellen on my voicemail, or the gentle kiss on the forehead from Tom, or actual pleasure at but a few notes that come out of my instrument - these are the kind of validations I have that I'm doing something right.
So I stick with Plan A, which is to keep walking forward, and try my hardest to enjoy my surroundings.
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