As for costumes, we start wearing them pretty much from the day we are born. For the first few years, someone else chooses them for us: the onesies and the jammies with feet, the itty-bitty OshKosh dungarees and the tiny frilly pink dresses. At a certain point, most of us begin to choose for ourselves, although our choices tend to be prescribed, or at least strongly influenced, by the culture into which we were born, the social milieu in which we find ourselves, and the occasion at hand. So we wear the dress-for-success business attire, the leotards, the leisure-time sweats, the road crew overalls, the swimsuit, the tennis togs, the tuxedo, the bridal gown. Sometimes our costumes - the school uniform, the military uniform, the forest ranger uniform, the outfit prescribed by the fast-food chain - mark us as belonging to a particular coterie.
And then there are the masks. Oh, yes, the masks. Very early in life, most of us discover that it might not be safe to wear our naked face in public. We learn the placating smile, the gruff guise that hides our softer self, the social veneer. We tend to show a different aspect to the boss than we do to our children, to the stranger than we do to our friends.
But underneath all those masks there still lives our first face, molded over the years by our thoughts and feelings and experiences. One of the greatest discoveries in our lives is that we can safely drop the mask and be our open, honest selves when we find the one we love.
