When I was in the parshah of shidduchim, you would think that my chosson would be impressed with my credentials as being a BJJ graduate. But he was not. He had no idea that there was anything prestigious about it because he was from Eretz Yisroel and as far as he knew, my seminary was housed in the Bais Yaakov and that meant that I learned in the zoo. Literally. Because in my days, the Bais Yaakov building was adjacent to the Biblical Zoo (which has since been relocated), and believe me, in the sweltering summer days, before Israelis knew of air conditioners, the windows were wide open and we breathed in the delicate fragrance of…zoo.

So much for my reputation as a BJJ girl. Totally wasted on him.

Reputation is a funny thing.

It is so important to maintain a good reputation, but the paradox is that if we live our lives to build a reputation, then the reputation itself becomes worthless. Or empty. Grandiose. Inflated. Distorted. A lie.

Instead, what we must do is live authentically. If we have a vision of the people we want to be, the kind of reputation we want, the way we need to do is live authentically. Live the life that belongs to that reputation. Forget the reputation and remember the life.

There are two developmental stages in our lives of tremendous growth that is unparalleled. When we are toddlers. When we are teenagers. As a matter of fact, in psychology, when we discuss developmental stages, of ages two to five and then again from twelve to eighteen, these two are compared for their striking similarities.

In both stages we boldly explore and rebel and learn and are passionate and love passionately and seek to conquer the world. But the two year old goes about his day totally disregarding his reputation. In both stages we experiment and put on different hats (literally, figuratively…the four year old wants to be a fireman, a Totty, a policeman; the teen vacillates between the array before her).

But the significant difference is the perfect indifference of the five year old as he experiments with life, as he plays and learns and finds himself, as to what others think of him. That total egocentricity with which he lives is crucial to his development. He can become who he wants to be without any thought of the expectations of others.

The teen does not have that luxury. Every act, every thought, every nuance is bared to the harsh light of others. And the teenager needs to sort out the influences of her life to decide which of the values have become authentically hers and which are simply superimposed. Which is why the teenager experience seems so similar to the Terrible Twos. It is when she needs to assert herself as a person, with her own values and thoughts and opinions. It is a time she needs to explore her parents’ choices and re-choose what was once simply done by rote. Her values. Her religion. Her opinions.

And when one is worried about a reputation, when one is burdened by the expectations of others to maintain this reputation—often when one person’s reputation impacts the reputation of another, such as siblings or parents—the authentic self becomes buried, lost.

We spend out whole lives building a reputation, a vision of ourselves we wish to project to the world, only to find out that we have fooled no one. Or, if we have been successful in fooling everyone, the reputation often seems as flimsy as a house of cards which one flick can destroy. And maintaining the reputation is often a costly emotional investment.

Today, thirty years beyond seminary, I do not know if I am your quintessential BJJ graduate, I do not even know how to describe the reputation I think I have. I would venture to say I am like the elephant the blind men touch. I am something different to the different people in my life. My children, my clients, my friends, my readers. Each see something different have a unique perspective of what they think is my reputation.

And the truth? It is irrelevant to me now as it was when I was two. Each day I live authentically, my reputation as mother, therapist, friend, and wife seamlessly integrated into the whole of who I am; I cannot identify or define it.

And what does my husband think?

He likes the idea that my last name is Blumenfeld.

It’s good for his reputation.

NOTE: THIS WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BINAH MAGAZINE AS A FEATURE ARTICLE

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