The other day at work, one of my co-workers asked if she could borrow my iPod for her break since the battery in hers was dead. And my initial and immediate reaction was "absolutely not!!!" although the part of me with proper social graces overrode that reaction and said "Oh, sure, why not." I did my usual by warning her that you never saw a weirder collection of music than my iPod, which is, to quote my 6th grade confirmation class, most certainly true. I also did the bit of self-depracation warning her not to listen to Bert & Ernie's Greatest Hits, a selection of which is on there for Anna's benefit (she even has a whole playlist of "Anna's Favorites" on there.)
But even though I agreed to it, I felt almost violated, exposed in a way I hadn't had time to prepare for. Like if I had known she wanted to borrow my iPod, I'd have erased everything remotely embarrassing on it (and screw up my play counts! For shame!) so as not to be exposed for whatever it was I was afraid of being exposed as. And I admit it, for most of the 15 minutes she was on break, I wondered what embarrassing thing was playing. Geez, am I a four or what? Because, after all, it is all about me.
Well, she came back from break and asked me what I was worried about because she's revealed some of the improbable things she's listened to on XM on the way to work. And in the end, nothing too terribly embarrassing played (I scrolled back through what had played before turning off the iPod.)
And it's at times like these that I remember that I have to own who I am. Warts and all, I am what I am, I am my own special creation. You gotta be it and love it and own it.
If only I could remember that a little more often.