All of my selves

“Jenn, you’re so easygoing!” a friend said after spending 10 days abroad with me and 9 others. “You’re always so calm.”

I don’t remember what I said in response, but I must have thanked her, thinking that it was a compliment. Inside, I was shocked. Me = calm? Quite certainly, I never thought of myself like that with the fury and anxiety that is at the surface for me.

But my face is deceiving. Many have said that they can’t read me. They can’t tell if I am enjoying something. They can’t tell if I absolutely hate the experience. They think that I am nice, calm, and peaceful.

Those who know me well or at least have spent a lot of time in my presence know better. If I am willing to be open. They know that I am very picky. They know that I really like things a certain way. Yet, they also know there are many things that I really don’t about at all. And they know when I am hungry, nearly anything that comes up will be perceived negatively unless I am fed. Usually a handful of fries does the trick.

And yet, how might one see me for me? Is there even a way? Is there a way to see past my silence? Or the silence that is circled with a mild smile? Or the silence that if you look closely my eyes are darting to the exit.

So for many years, my colleagues at work always seemed shocked to meet me in social non-work contexts. “She is a prankster?” they say. “And I always thought that she was so professional.”

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