BECOMING SYBIL

Do you ever find yourself shuffling through different personalities...different versions of yourself...on a daily basis? I do.

Work. You've got your group of 'friends.' You've got your status and your image and all of that crap. If you work in a professional, corporate environment...you've got a whole list of standards and guidelines and bloppity blah blah crap like that. You have to be careful what you say and who you say it to. Don't be too political...don't speak your mind too much...be PC....ugh... it is too much sometimes. Depending on your position, you may find yourself in a mind boggling labyrinth of constraint.

Family. A completely different world. They've known you for-evah! They can see through your bullshit. They know what's up. You have a different image, a different role, a different place on the totem pole of life. You may rule the roost at work, but do you at home? Or vice versa?

Friends. This can be the wackiest group of all. Because within your group of friends, you most likely have subsets. There are the friends you've known since grade school, high school, college, past jobs, etc. Within those groups there are different groups. The professional types, the slacker types. The mathy math math types and the artsy types. The rebels and the law-abiding folk. There are those you see all the time, and those that go on hiatus...only to return years later as if no time had passed. Your place or your status in each of the groups could be drastically different. You could be the top dog in one group and perhaps a tag along in another.

Am I making any sense here? It's confusing. It's annoying. Why can't we just be who we are all the time? Why do we constantly feel the need to be jockeying for different positions throughout the day? Why do we put up with these "rules" and "guidelines" and "taboos?"

I go nuts trying to remember who I can say what to and when and where I can say it. As long as my intent isn't to offend or hurt someone, then what is the big deal? And why should I have to feel obligated to hide my opinions on religion, politics, social and whatever issues? It's all a big drag if you ask me.

Sometimes I don't even know who I am myself. I'll go see friends perform in a band and think "yeah-I loved it when I was performing....I want to go back to that."

A week later, I'll find myself watching a friend perform on stage and think "yeah....I loved working in the theater. I think I want to go back to that."

A month later, it'll be something else. I really loved working at the newspaper...working the ass off trying to make a deadline. Stretching into the nether regions of my vocab to formulate a headline that would make sense AND fit into an itsy bitsy teeny weeny space. I loved working in radio...covering elections, tornadoes, dead bodies in drainage ditches. Etcetera, etcetera. Good times.

Tonight, I found myself in one of my moments. I went to see Phil Ponce, a Chicago journalist I admire, speak at Loyola. He was moderating a panel of his sons, also in the Chicago news media, about careers in journalism and broadcasting. Afterwards, I chatted up Dan Ponce, who seemed to have gone through a similar experience. Like me, he went to school for broadcasting...only to graduate and then become a music teacher. Random, yes. But comforting to know someone else had gone through the same career uncertainty. After doing his music thing, he realized that he wanted to go back to school to continue on in journalism.

He had an obvious, but great piece of advice. Just go do it. Do what you want to do. Don't be afraid of trying something else. If you feel passionate about something, go do it. Don't go nuts trying to lock into a career path. It's never too late to change your mind.

Duh. Makes sense. But in a mixed-up world of different roles, expectations, standards, rules, and crap...it gets confusing. Nauseating at times. It becomes easy to lose focus. It becomes easy to settle.

Do what you love. If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life.

Now, where can I get more info on becoming a stripper? Kidding.