Act 1, Scene 1

To the one waiting for her entrance,

You are a performer. Those were the first words in your journal. When you wrote that down, it was an honest confession. To the world. To yourself. You wanted those words to be written down somewhere, known, an acknowledged reality. You are a performer. Yes, in the sense that you love acting, being on stage, presenting to an audience, essentially, not having to be yourself. But there’s more. You like to wear different masks, becoming different players—the servant, the helper, the yes-man—whatever it takes to get on someone’s good side. You’ve gotten so good at this that at the end of the day, when there’s no audience before you, things get scary.

All the world’s a stage; and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances…

Shakespeare Twelfth night

In his first letter, the apostle Peter addresses the “sojourners” and “elect exiles”. Not fitting in seems to be the theme he’s getting at. It’s as if we’re not supposed to feel truly comfortable with ourselves while we’re here on Earth. We’re merely passing through. Our identity is just wandering in this place that we’re not supposed to call home. So how do we respond? Or how do you respond? You go shopping, looking for different costumes, different masks. You try out different ways of living, loving, being. Constantly in search for those parts of you that feel just right. But also never really feeling content. Is it scary that you’ll never get to know yourself? Or you will, just not now.

Sincerely, Esther