On being a fake…

I have been a computer programmer for 5 years, a runner for 8, and a mother for 10. When people ask me what I do or to describe myself, I tell them, but a small part of me feels guilty, because I am a fake. I have been fooling my employer all this time, I really don’t know what I am doing when I tie up my shoes, and for some reason beyond my comprehension at the time, I was errantly allowed to bring a newborn baby home from the hospital.

Of course none of this is true; the SQL I run returns accurate results and the programs I code don’t crash, I have run a Boston Qualifying marathon, and I have managed to raise two well-behaved, intelligent and polite children; so why do I feel this way?

Perhaps it stems from the disparity in how our mind ages compared to our body. We have no control over how quickly our body grows old – it is purely nature driven and, regardless of how good our genes are, we all eventually get old. We will fight this until the bitter end with miracle herbs and magic age-defying lotions but the truth remains that most of us will not see our 90th birthday.

Our minds, however, are a different story. How many times have you seen a middle aged man, after a failed attempt to complete some physical exploit, doubled over in pain whilst clutching an injured body part, mumbling, “I guess I’m not 25 anymore!”? Our psyches are easily swayed. Youth seems to have a powerful allure that we hungrily track down like bloodhounds. Many adults are just plain scared of growing up – the obligations that come with experience are daunting, and it is easy to shelter yourself underneath the pretext of immaturity. We have all exploited youthful ignorance as an excuse at one time or another.

So while I am 43 on the outside, my inner self clings to the insecure and vulnerable person I was at 19; the person who was just starting to test the unfathomable waters of maturity. No matter how much I have changed, it refuses to let go of her, and it chastises her for trying to be something that she is not. I have spent countless years confronting these inner demons, and arguing against my own perceived beliefs. Unfortunately, to win this battle also means to succumb to the truth that I am no longer 19 without responsibility, but fully accountable for my actions. So I harbour this secret, and find myself periodically casting doubt on my abilities.

In the end it is preferable for me to have this occasional dubiousness rather than appear too confident. Believing I am intermittently fraudulent keeps me from being too presumptuous, and compels me to constantly strive for personal betterment. Its acceptable to believe I’m fake now and then, and I’m okay with that...