I, the Imposter
“The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts. Bertrand Russell
I wake, snap from an uncertain dream that tugs hesitantly at memory. For a moment my doubts are quiet, mere echoes of yesterday’s events and of today’s anticipation.
The moment slips past as I emerge full faced into the half-light of dawning expectation. A shudder embraces me, and I stumble through the door of misgiving, drawn by the enticing call of familiar fear. Is today the day? Is today that day they find me out?
It’s a heavy thought, one that presses my head hard into my forgiving pillow. I hear the voices of others. Others in this club of many, this club of one. Their fraud is no less than mine and perhaps more transparent. They, at least, have the heart to admit.
I hear them now. ‘They are more worthy’. ‘I am a fraud’. ‘It was luck’. ‘I don’t fit’. ‘I got away with it, this time’. ‘It’s a confidence trick’. ‘I don’t belong’. ‘I’m not worthy’.
I hear myself.
I look in the mirror, a familiar face reflected. My face. There is no mask. There is no crease. The mask fits perfectly, from the outside.
I ponder this as I pull myself up, brace my shoulders and walk into a new day, into another beginning. I ponder this, and I hold myself, the effort it takes only known to me.
There is no crease. It is just me.