I read that somewhere, in a blog post or book most likely, and it made me pause. I jotted it down in the notes on my phone, thinking that I really needed to explore that more and I was sure I’d forget all about it if I didn’t write it down. I did anyway. Scrolling through my notes, which I use often as reminders when I’m out and about, days later I saw those four words again. “What do you fake?”

It’s a hard question. To answer it honestly would mean that I would stop faking for a moment and my disguise would be lost forever. And not faking it is rarely an option that ends in warm fuzzy feelings.

Sometimes it becomes impossible to tell the difference between what you are faking and what is genuine. But, then again, what does that even mean, to be “genuine”?

I believe myself to be an open book generally. I don’t easily hide how I feel about things. I may be misunderstood at times. I may be misjudged. My actions may be read wrong. I may not explicitly state how I feel or what I think about a topic, but, if asked, I will answer honestly. I try to spare feelings where I can, but if you ask me something specific, I assume you want to know what I think and I love to share.

I don’t believe that I’m overly intelligent. I try to think things through, but I do most things by intuition and not by deep study or calculation. That can get me in trouble. From a missed shot on the pool table to hurting someone’s feelings, intuition doesn’t always get you where you want to go. But it may get you somewhere you need to be.

I’m not very patient. Things that take long stretches of time or effort tend to bore me and I get restless. I shift focus often but usually come back around to the same things in time. Anything that has stuck in my life has insisted on sticking. Plants in my yard are there because they can be neglected at times and come back to life when I have the inclination to give them attention again. That goes for my relationships and art projects as well.

I believe people think I enjoy children. I don’t. It’s not that I don’t like them really. I think they are awesome. They are filled with greatness and should be treated with respect. We should all honor the intact human they are from the moment they are conceived. But…by their parents mostly. Like I said, I have little patience. I think I used up every ounce that I could muster on raising my own kids without too much damage. I’ll leave the rest up to their parents. Babies are excluded…I love them to pieces with their little feet and faces. And toddlers are so much fun. But the rest, with their attitudes and trying people, learning to navigate this world…my patience is thin. That’s honesty. Bring them back to me when they are teens.

I think the older I get, the less I intentionally fake. I used to fake that I was a “good girl,” that I didn’t care what other people think, and that I knew what I was doing. It’s all out the window now.

What about you?