Yesterday, I took my Mom to the salon for her weekly hair appointment. For as long as I can remember, she has never washed her own hair and has always relied on a professional to do that for her. In fact, one time, she took my Dad with her as he was getting a haircut too, and said that it was the first time that he had ever seen her hair wet. This was after forty plus years of marriage. I don’t think I ever asked him what he thought, but I giggle when I think about it.

So, while I waited for her, I found myself multitasking, which means I resumed reading my smut novel with a plot (don’t judge) and observed the individuals around me. Part of my creative process is to make up stories about the people meandering. So, for instance, this woman entered. She was dripping in Gucci. Gucci shoes. Gucci purse. In fact, if Guccio Gucci were still alive, she might be wearing him. Anyway, she approached the desk to check-in and apologized for being late (20 minutes). She was asked if she would like something to drink, while waiting for her stylist and she responded, “Yes. I would like coffee with one Splenda, heavy on the cream and two stirrers.”. Very specific. I was waiting for them to call her name when her order was ready, but then I remembered I wasn’t at Starbucks. I concocted the idea that she was divorced (no ring on her finger and she was probably mid-30s), high maintenance, and always has to “look” the part. She probably would not wear her pajamas to Walmart. My bet is she has never been to Walmart. Remember, I am simply creating a story, not judging her. It’s more fun than judging really because there is a plot. I can make her as kind or evil as they come. It was sort of amusing when she was alerted to the fact that her appointment was actually twenty minutes later than she thought, so she was actually early. Maybe she is used to having people waiting on her instead of the reverse. She didn’t seem annoyed, but maybe she is proficient in hiding her emotions. Who is she really? Is the designer stuff a mask? Do people assume that she is snooty because of her appearance?

Take myself for example. I don’t hide who I am . One of my friends texted me the other night inquiring as to what I was doing. I could have made up something, but I was honest and told her that I was “in bed, eating pudding and reading a smut novel with a plot”. That is who I am. No excuses. No pretenses. I don’t have to play a part. I don’t have to put on appearances. Such a relief today. Being me requires minimal effort when I am not pretending I am something that I am not. I don’t have to appear that I have it all together because I don’t. Half of the time I can’t remember if I have put on deodorant. I am that chick who sniffs her pits when no one is looking. At least, I think no one is looking.

My point is that we are all characters in this production of life. Your role is whatever you make of it. Be as authentic as you can be. Be kind. Be compassionate. Be yourself because there is only one person that can play your part.