It’s autumn, a time when my mood generally takes an inward turn. Okay, if I’m being honest, I tend to brood year-round, though most people wouldn’t realize it. I’m a ponderer, a ruminator, perhaps most of all, a second-guesser. But I’m usually pretty successful at keeping it to myself. I mean, I’m not an obsessively private person, but I’m not exactly all-access either. I guess I fall somewhere in the mid-range, between Salingerian Hermit and Kardashian Exhibitionist.<\/p>\n
So it was simultaneously exciting and a bit disconcerting to be invited to post on the Dear Teen Me <\/em>website. Okay, an admission: excitement trumped apprehension. Tasked with writing a letter to my younger self, I could’ve kept it bright and breezy, skimmed the surface. Somehow, though, that seemed wrong, a little too much like my go-to tactic throughout much of my adolescence.<\/p>\n And all these years later, one would hope I’ve learned a little something. So I opted not to sugarcoat, not to plaster on cheerfuness, but instead, to address that very trait, the habitual donning of the Happy Mask. I feel pretty good about having divulged (though I am rethinking a couple of those photos). Don’t worry, though, I didn’t take sharing to a Kardashian level.<\/p>\n