The Secret Life of an Alter Persona

It’s been going on as long as I can remember, this sense I can have an alter persona.

Not just one. Lots of them depending on the time, place and what I’m currently working on.

I may be walking down the street, looking like any other middle-aged woman to passersby.

But in my mind, I could be anybody–a lithe young woman with hair blowing  in the breeze and a sense of purpose: I’m on my way to a conquest!

Or perhaps I’m a worried elderly woman, shuffling along, uncertain of what I’ll find when I turn the corner.

I could be a dancing ten year-old with tight braids and a skip in my step because my friend is waiting.

Or maybe I’m a haunted doctor, head down against the frigid wind blowing across an Afghani plain  as I hike to an outpost of Doctors Without Borders.

I could be anybody–in my mind.

When I wasn’t being a “normal” person, I lived in a story land-filled with alter personas, plotting other places to be, adventures far beyond my current location.

Was it my imagination or just boredom with routine life? (Though my life has seldom been boring). Was it the result of watching too many movies as a kid, or simply reading too many books that made me perceive life as story and a need to keep the narrative moving?

I’ve not seen the recent version of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, but I know the Danny Kaye-starring movie and love the idea that at a moment’s notice Walter could be switching into an alter persona.

All it takes is imagination.

I don’t go so far as Water does to try to convince others I’m something I’m not.

Though, there was the time I sobbed and carried on–the picture of a woman terrified she’d been misunderstood– so the bank manager would okay our mortgage.

I can also be deadly on the phone with officious people after I’ve been on hold for a long time–I usually time it and report the number–but I always feel badly afterwards.

Sometimes I even feel the need to confess sin.

But really, if you can make the story interesting, why tell it straight?  (See Big Fish) Click to Tweet

I used to tell people doing laundry was my hobby, “because a hobby is anything you spend a lot of time doing,” and that was certainly my life.

But who could think anyone would love doing laundry, particularly in a family boasting three fun boys? My long-suffering husband, however, took me at my word. “You always said you loved doing laundry,” the logical engineer explained with puzzlement in his face and voice.

“I was being ironic!”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

I didn’t mutter, “tone of voice,” but I thought it.

For years, I used romantic moments in movies to point out to the children how I met their father. Since I’d raised them myself, I thought they’d caught the absurdity of those statements and recognized them as irony.

But then one day I overheard my adult son  trying to explain to his wife how his parents met.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “It had something to do with playing volleyball (true), but then apparently there was this ice rink where my dad raised her over his head (Winter Olympics, ice skating gold medals)–I never figured that out because they lived in Los Angeles–but then she’d say something like, “but we’ll always have Paris,” (Casablanca) and break into song (pick your musical). So, I guess I’m not really sure, though they couldn’t have met during the Civil War (Gone With the Wind).”

This son is the only non- scientist in the family besides me.

My daughter-in-law raised her eyebrows and looked in my direction.

“I was trying to give him a sense of the romance, the emotional feeling, the metaphor, not the actual event.”

“Oh.”

Scriptures warn us our “yes” needs to be “yes,” and our “no” needs to be “no.” Obviously, lying is a violation of the Ten Commandments. But life can be so mundane, I always wanted to make it more interesting–ironic, clever, witty. Most of the time, my friends and family understood. But one day I was telling a story to our pastor, who smiled as I talked and when I finished, nodded his head.

“Don’t you think so?” I said with a laugh.

His answer was slow. “I actually don’t know you well enough to know if you’re teasing or telling the truth.”

Aghast, I stammered out, “telling a story.”

“Okay.” He laughed.

But I’ve always tried to be careful–particularly with people I don’t know very well–ever since.

It’s all in the tone you see.

Or the imagination.

Do Walter Mitty‘s extravagant alter personas make sense to you?

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