Might one divest oneself or somehow be divested of the habits, assumptions, aspirations of a lifetime? Can the familiar mechanisms of defense, disguise, delusion be cast off like worn out garments? Or have we so sewn ourselves into these costumes and roles that there is no viable persona beyond some abstruse aporia? In the end we cannot and perhaps must not disabuse ourselves of whatever fictions have sustained, energized, consoled our enterprise. Our job is to trust ourselves. It just doesn't get easier.