It is impossible to talk about Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing without talking about masks. Sometimes, masks are literal, like the one worn by Don Pedro while wooing Hero on Claudio’s behalf (strange move there, Don Pedro). Others are figurative, such as the protective masks of confidence worn by Beatrice and Benedict. All in all, if there is one takeaway from Shakespeare’s classic, it is that every human being, whether they know it or not, has a collection of masks to hide behind.
That may not be a bad thing.
For a long time, I was sure that the worst thing someone could do was be fake. It makes sense on the surface. We have all known, or been, those people who constantly pretend to be something or someone that they are not. We all know, intrinsically, how much being genuine and honest is valued in our society. But over the past few years, I have wondered what being ‘genuine’ really means. Must we always take off our masks to be genuine, or, at times, can the masks we wear make us more genuine than we would otherwise be?
When I was in high school, I attended the youth program at SHARE, a yearly homeschool conference for missionary kids. All cards on the table, these were the best single weeks of every year. For months in advance, I would look ahead to the seven days of SHARE (of games, Bible studies, skits and late-night tea spilling), and the high of those times would carry me weeks afterward. Still, that doesn’t mean that interactions during those times were always easy. I can still vividly remember my jittery nerves during my first year in the group, desperately trying to shape my thirteen-year-old self into the type of person that these awesome older teenagers would deign to speak to. But I didn’t act nervous. I acted like I belonged. I wore a mask.
I still thank God for that mask.
The phrase ‘fake it till you make it’ is one nearly everyone has come across. In some ways, I suppose that is what the thirteen-year-old me believed she was doing during that first week surrounded by people who seemingly outranked her. But, looking back, I think my choice was something more than that. Because I did not wear a mask of something fake, I wore the mask of something true.
There is nothing wrong with being nervous in a new situation. It is a natural response, not to mention an uncontrollable one. We cannot choose when we become nervous, but we can choose how we act in those moments. We can give in and be the small, shaky versions of ourselves that claw uncertainly to the surface, or, if we try, I believe we can put on the masks of the people we are when we are most ourselves. We can play the roles of who we really are. And, in doing so, we can more quickly become those people again.
When I came to Asbury as a Freshman, I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. I had no friends or routine. I was in a country that I had no memories of living in, and everything in me wanted to curl up and hide in a hole, but I remembered my time at SHARE. I remembered how easily we change into the roles we choose to play and how many beautiful memories I would have missed out on if I had not pushed myself to pretend to be the person I really was. I remembered how much I like acting like myself. And so, though my heart pounded with every falsely comfortable interaction, I wore the mask of myself.
That choice did not just help me get through a transition; it reminded me of the person I wanted to be and the person I was. It helped me not to give that person up in the face of fear or insecurity and reminded me of the importance of being myself.
Even with the help of a mask.
