On Becoming June Cleaver

After work last night, I had good intentions of sitting down to write a blog.  But then a few of my employees asked me to join them for a beer, and the idea of drinking outweighed the idea of writing.

While throwing back a few, one of my staff asked me about my life.  They were intrigued about how I went from being a bad-ass musician to a June Cleaver-esque mom in just a few years.  The question rattled me. I wondered internally.

Sweet Jesus. Have I really become June Cleaver?

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against June, the archetypal suburban parent from the 50's. But my inner touring musician cringed.  At first, I felt defensive.  Then I felt angry.  Finally I felt like jumping on the bar an rock-belting from my gut, just to change their mind (and prove I still could).

In the end, I just slugged back the beer and drove home, stewing.

I kept thinking all night: why do we care so much about our persona? I know who I truly am.  I'm a short-fused, hard-working, entrepreneurial artist with a fierce love of nature and a penchant for flying off the handle.  But the idea that other people see me as a simple house-wife?

It was more than I could bear.

Which is of course ridiculous.  Reader, we cannot change what people think about us.  They will perceive based on what they see.  Only we know who we are.  There's no sense trying to prove ourselves to the outside world. 

And besides, what others see might actually not be so bad.  Episodes of 'Leave It To Beaver' usually had a pretty solid moral and some quality cinematography.

With that, this rock-mom is off to finish making glögg for her venue.  Let's get out there this week and not give a damn what people think of us. See you next Sunday (or Monday, if beers happen again). -Em


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