The Actor Inside Us

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning. I didn’t recognize the person looking back.

Hair combed perfectly. Tie straight. Shirt ironed. Shoes polished. I had become someone else. Someone who doesn’t exist. Someone I invented for today’s job interview.

This happens to all of us. We become actors. Not on stage. In life.

The interview was at ten. I left home at eight. Two hours early. Because the person I was pretending to be would never be late. The real me is always late. But today, I was playing a different character.

In the bus, I practiced my lines. “My greatest strength is adaptability.” I said it under my breath. Again. Again. An old woman looked at me strangely. I smiled at her. The confident smile I had been practicing. She looked away.

What is a job interview? It is theater. Pure theater. Two people sit across a table. One asks questions they already know the answers to. The other gives answers they have memorized. Both know the game. Both play along. Both pretend this is real conversation.

I reached the office building. Glass and steel. Cold. Impressive. Designed to make you feel small. I walked in. My shoes clicked on the marble floor. Click. Click. Click. Each step was a performance. Confident. Purposeful. A man who knows where he’s going.

I didn’t know where I was going.

The waiting room had six other candidates. We sat in plastic chairs. Nobody talked. Everyone looked at their phones. But nobody was reading anything. We were all just hiding. Behind our screens. Behind our suits. Behind our rehearsed smiles.

A woman in navy blue kept moving her lips. Practicing answers. A young man adjusted his tie every thirty seconds. Another kept crossing and uncrossing his legs. We were all nervous. We were all pretending not to be. A room full of actors waiting for their audition.

My name was called. I stood up. Straightened my jacket. Walked into the room. Three people sat behind a long table. They looked at me. I looked at them. The performance began.

“Tell us about yourself.”

I told them. Not about myself. About the character I had created. This character was confident. Ambitious. Hardworking. This character had clear goals. Five-year plans. Leadership qualities. This character was everything I am not.

Or maybe everything I want to be?

This is the confusing part. When I spoke about my strengths, I was lying. But I was also telling the truth. I don’t have those strengths yet. But I want them. I am trying to become the person I was describing. The lie was also a wish. The performance was also a prayer.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I answered smoothly. Leading a team. Making impact. Growing with the company. Beautiful words. Rehearsed words. The truth? I can’t see next month clearly. I don’t know how I will pay rent if I don’t get this job. Five years feels like five centuries.

But I smiled. The character smiled. Confidently. Professionally. As if the future was a book I had already read.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew what it was. A payment reminder. The bank doesn’t care about my performance. The bank wants money. Real money. Not rehearsed answers.

I kept smiling. The show must go on.

They asked about weaknesses. This is the strangest part of the dance. Everyone knows you won’t tell your real weakness. Everyone knows you will say something that sounds like a weakness but is actually a strength. “I work too hard sometimes.” “I care too much about quality.” We all play this game. We all know it’s a game. We play anyway.

The interview ended. They said they would be in touch. This is what they always say. It means nothing. It means everything. It means wait. Hope. Worry.

I walked to the elevator. Pressed the button. The doors opened. I saw my reflection in the metal walls. The confident man was fading. The real me was coming back. Shoulders dropping. Smile disappearing. Tiredness showing.

By the time I reached my car, the character was gone. I sat in the driver’s seat. Loosened my tie. Breathed. Just breathed. The performance was over. Now came the waiting.

Driving home, I thought about all the versions of myself. There is the son my mother knows. Gentle. Obedient. Always agreeing with her. There is the friend my college friends know. Funny. Careless. Full of bad jokes. There is the late-night me. Alone. Thinking too much. Worrying about everything.

And now there is this interview version. Polished. Professional. Confident. A complete fiction. Or is it?

Maybe we are all collections of characters. Maybe there is no single “real” self. Maybe we just play different roles for different audiences. The question is: which role is closest to who we truly are?

I don’t know the answer.

That night, I sat at my kitchen table. Old t-shirt. Torn jeans. Cup of tea going cold. This felt like me. But so did the suited man in the interview room. Both were me. Neither was complete.

Tomorrow, I will either get the job or not. If I get it, I will have to keep performing. Every day. For years. The confident professional. The team player. The ambitious employee. The character will become my daily costume.

If I don’t get it, I will find another interview. Create another version. Perform again. Until someone believes my act enough to hire me.

This is what professional life is. Acting. Method acting. We become the roles we play. We pretend until pretending becomes reality. We fake confidence until confidence becomes real.

Is this dishonest? I used to think so. Now I am not sure. Maybe growth itself is a kind of acting. We imagine who we want to be. We perform that person. Slowly, we become them. The lie becomes truth. The act becomes identity.

The mirror shows not just who we are. It shows who we are trying to become.

Tonight, the gap between these two feels very wide. But maybe tomorrow, it will be a little smaller. Maybe each performance brings us closer to the person we are pretending to be.

Or maybe I am just telling myself stories to feel better about lying in interviews.

Both could be true.

I finish my cold tea. Go to bed. Tomorrow will come with its answer. Yes or no. Either way, the acting will continue. In interviews. In offices. In life.

We are all performers. The stage is everywhere. The audience is everyone.

The only question is: are we playing ourselves, or someone we hope to become?

I still don’t know. Maybe I never will.