Do I Wear a Mask, or Do I Radiate?

Do I wear a mask? Or am I simply selective? That question has been sitting with me longer than I realized.

I’m often told that I light up, that I glow, especially when I see a child, former student, former teacher, or retired principal colleague. Mrs. Sturgill notices it immediately. She jokes that I fake it. But I don’t think I do. I think something inside me responds before I have time to think. It’s not a performance. It’s recognition.

Maybe that’s where the confusion comes in, because there is selectivity. But selectivity isn’t the same thing as dishonesty. A mask hides who you are. Selectivity reveals when you allow your most authentic self to surface. The truth is, I can’t be joyful in every moment of every day. That wouldn’t be real. I’m not a 24/7 Mary Poppins kind of person. My JOY isn’t constant; it’s responsive.

There’s also a physical reality to this. Most days, something aches. Joints protest. Everything creaks a little louder than it used to. I couldn’t run a marathon today, not that I ever could, but that isn’t decline so much as discernment. I’m not hiding pain. I’m simply refusing to let it be the headline. That’s part of why I’m selective.

There’s a story about Milton Berle in Las Vegas. People would see an old man backstage, with a walker, an oxygen mask, looking like he was near the end. Then Uncle Milty would step onto the stage, and suddenly none of that mattered. He made people laugh. He made them smile. He made them believe in something lighter. Not because he was fake, but because the stage drew out what still mattered.

Some days, I think that’s true of me too. When I’m tired, when my body is loud, when the weight of the day presses in, I don’t lead with that. I don’t hand it to everyone I pass. And I don’t think that makes me inauthentic. I think it means I’ve learned what deserves my energy.

Because when I see a child, or a former student, or someone who reminds me of why I chose this life, something else steps forward. Not denial. Not pretending. Something deeper. If my Christianity shows up there, it’s not because I’m trying to display it. It’s because genuine faith leaks out in moments of connection. In recognition. In love remembering itself.

So no, I don’t wear a mask. I choose when to let the light speak louder than the ache. This may be one of those pieces that doesn’t want to stand alone. I’ve learned that some thoughts arrive as visitors, not conclusions, asking to be set down, noticed, and returned to later. There are others like it waiting their turn, written or half-written, gathered over time and held until the right season. I don’t always know where they’re leading, only that when they come, I’m meant to listen, to temper my tongue, and to let the current carry them forward. If this feels like the beginning of something rather than the end, that may be because it is. Somewhere in the middle of all this noise, recognition still finds me,  and joy answers before I have time to explain it.