Identity

You know, you think you have some kind of control over your own identity, but you don't. You think if you dress a certain way or act a certain way, flip your hair back and laugh toward the ceiling, people will believe you are carefree and charming, but you may be fooling yourself. They may not think that at all.
I wake up every day and assemble my uniform, take a pair of pants from pile A and a shirt from pile B. I don't spend a lot of time working out what each combination says about me, I don't want to use my time in that way. I just want to be comfortable and not have to think too hard about which shirt goes with which pants. I wasted and was forced to waste too much time on that pursuit in my youth. And I didn't even succeed all that well according to the photos taken at that time, so I'll be damned if I'm going to waste any more of my time on that stuff now. I don't wear make-up or pluck my eyebrows. My graying hair is short and finger-styled every day or two. I'm completely aware that this combination of visuals screams LESBIAN! to those for whom pigeonholes were invented. Clearly I'm not primping in the way that is usually used to signal sexual availability to men, so voila! that must mean the other thing. The either/or of linear thinking.
You may think your intelligence shines through your eyes, that your every gesture denotes a grace and ease of living in this world without a crippling sense of how other people see and perceive your persona. You may think that, but in thinking that you are more self-conscious and posing than you'd like to believe. Your capris and goofy bumper sandals proclaim you as a member of the soccer mom league whether you like it or not. Out in public with your child, your IQ takes several undeserved hits only because in deferring to another's needs, you can not project your own personality strongly enough to have it maintain any shape at all.
And there you are, staring out of the wrong pigeonhole.