Looking for the Organics Behind the Mask

I grabbed a late lunch at 2:00-fish tacos. I know; it’s stupid to order tacos outside of the really good Mexican food epicenter, but I hadn’t yet made it back to the center of Louisiana and was hoping to hold onto my Texas weekend a few hours longer.  The menu called for breaded-fried white fillets. I ordered them grilled.  When the waitress dropped it off, I was startled by the manager who popped into view, “I want to know what you think!”  He was excited.  

“I’ll be back.”  

His excitement made me excited until I drained the taco of dripping oil.  I guess the cook decided to remove the coating but cook the way he cooks.  What made me push the platter away was the realization that the part of the fish they were using was that dark strip down the middle of the tilapia.  This use of unappealing meat is ok as long as everything stays covered up.

In Master’s program, I did my thesis on Jungian Archetypes.  Carl put forth the idea of a persona, a mask.  He said that when we introduce ourselves, we show off the parts that most clearly represent who we want ourselves to be perceived as.  (This works in various scenarios.  If you’re wanting to be perceived as a rebel, you put forth your best rebel attributes.   I might be ad-libbing here.  I’m not sure.)  I think the persona is like the breading on the fish.  It’s not necessary, but it's an option that will change the experience.  

Persona makes me think about the “best” stuff that I will probably, involuntarily, exhibit on any next date.  However, I have a default script that requires me to be authentic—organic—(thus the dis-settling feeling during on-the-spot moments and when stalking an attractive stranger in a bar), and I haven't been able to make my mind cough up items for a list of personable attributes that I might test out.  My mind seems to be okay with this limitation as there is always a list of different lists for it to attend to.  

On the way back to Baton Rouge, I thought through these ideas.  Now, I'm reading If the Buddha Dated.  The author references another thunker, “If we play hard to get or pour on the charm to attract someone to us, we plant the seeds for anger and mistrust […].”  Wow, that sounds like great advice—at first.  Being an organic being, I don’t want to plant distrust.  But, if I don’t pour on some charm, I won’t plant seeds of interest and there will be no need to worry about anger or mistrust.  I’ll leave the task of weighing out proportions of charm to misery for future case-by-case decisions.  Kasl continues, “If someone falls in love with our mask, we have two choices: either we wear the mask and lose ourselves, or remove the mask and risk losing the relationship.”  Wow, that sounds horrible—at first and throughout each of the dimensions of my mind. 

Ex#2 and I had a friend—let’s call her Lafitte—who was heartbroken about a breakup.  Lafitte had been with Meany for more than a decade, but she only told of good times during their first year.  (I’m going to go out on a limb and say that people can’t wear a mask for longer than four seasons.)  Meany’s darker side—the Shadow—began to eeek from the sides of her mask until it consumed her.  Unfortunately for Lafitte, Meany had seduced her good—real good—and Lafitte worked really hard to get Meany to be the sweet lover she had been during year one.  Ex#2 and I stood by and tried to support Lafitte, but we knew that after the surface niceties (her persona), Meany was mean.  Now that I’ve met Jung’s stuff, I understand that Meany was suffocating beneath the mask.  She was the backstrap of tilapia and needed for Lafitte to not find out that she was covered in fried breading and had lied about being the filet.  

I’m not going to tell you how Kasl concludes the chapter because I wouldn’t do it justice and I'm ready to go grab a really late dinner.  It seems like with the mask you get nowhere if you don’t put it on, and you’re far down the wrong path if you wear it too long.  I'll let you surmise the conundrum.  On any next first date, should an organic person be:

A.   breaded with a crispy golden coat 

B.   open on a half shell without cocktail sauce or crackers