The Power of Pretending

This evening found me at a costume party in celebration of Valentine's Day. My sister Gina and I went together as Mrs. and Miss Bates from Jane Austen's Emma.

Please understand how very monumental this piece of trivia is. Emma happens to be my sister's favorite movie, for which she is derided by every member of our household. To me, the writing of Jane Austen is trite and repetitive, and relegated to the small world of matchmaking and handwork. Not to imply that there is no redeeming quality in the works of fiction, nor that I could write any better were I pressed, but simply that any and all of Austen's works fail to speak to my soul or cause me to ponder.

That said, when it was my idea to go to the costume party as Mrs. Bates, with Gina as Miss Bates, my entire family was surprised, and all endeavored to pull together the most tremendously atrocious outfit possible. It was a hit, I believe, and good times were had by all. I just had to stand there, hunched over, with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, while Gina prattled on and on about the weather and the sermon and the letter she received from Bath on Tuesday last. At least, until we both started laughing.

This evening has started me musing, however: Why do people like costume parties? What is it about pretending to be someone else that carries such innate appeal? Is it because you get to take on the persona of another life, with the freedom of knowing you won't have to live with it tomorrow? Is it because, for once, you can pretend to be the person you always wanted to be?

As a child, I rarely played dress-up. But I very much lived in my own little world, surrounded by my dreams and fantasies and make-believe. Wars were waged in our little creek bed. Battles were fought in the fort and next to the old hammock, one day against the neighbor kids and the next day on their side. We ran away from orphanages and cruel taskmasters, forged our own on the wild prairie, and built a castle in the sky. To the casual observer, it was just a shed with a loft, or a trampoline, or a bedroom. But to me, it was my fortress, my castle, and my home.

No matter how bad the day became in my inexperienced life, there was always an escape in a book or a flight to the fort. I could always pretend.

Some of those tendencies carry over, you know. In the face of conflict, I would still rather flee to my own safe haven than face the stern reality of damaged relationships or unhappy experiences. I would still rather disappear in a book, reliving another person's life or creation, than face the challenge of conversation. I would still rather live and play with the few kids on the block who know me well and accept me for who I am, rather than seek the position of "most popular" or "most outgoing."

Back to costume parties, however, and the power of pretending. Each person at he party, whether it was Cleopatra or the mob boss or a cowgirl, had the freedom to take on the personality of the individual they were impersonating. For one night, they were whomever they wanted to be.

Perhaps that is the power of pretending--you can take on a foreign personality or persona, with no regrets. . . or can you? As I ponder the evening and the costume party, the night was a challenge for me to live sincerely--whether it is with my family, with someone I respect and admire, or with someone I barely know.

In reality, we go to costume parties every day. When you put your game face on, do you become a different person? When you walk out the door to wherever you are going, do you begin to see life through different colored glasses? I know I do sometimes.

Costume parties are fun . . . but they are a reminder that life is better lived in the open, sharing the joys and pains of life. So be the real you--the you God created you to be, and the you He loves passionately. I want to meet that special someone inside of you, and share a bit of me as well!

"Dance like nobody's watching; love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening; live like it's heaven on earth." --Mark Twain