Who Do You Want to Be?

There are so many viewpoints co creating who we are. For instance, I could say I’m a woman, I’m a wife, I’m a gardener, I’m a writer, I’m a paper loving crafter, I’m a spiritual being having a human experience.

In childhood, they plaster us with boy, girl, pretty, handsome, fun, adorable, social, smart, stupid, all kinds of identifiers we are taught to carry in our pockets.

From the moment I went to preschool, they labeled me as not bright. That should insult me, but I think it’s more common than not. Every parent wants to believe their child is the smartest in the room. My parents were being told I needed special education and would never develop to live on my own.

There is no memory of me being moved schools. A vague fog of my parents putting me in a very expensive private school. Turns out I could learn anything you put in front of me. I’m not rocket science smart, but I’m adequate at most things. It’s good that I didn’t let someone label me as not bright and let it ride on my back for the rest of my life.

I write. That makes me a writer. I don’t mind the label, but it makes things so one sided. It’s not who I am. Not the whole. I’m a wife. Dog owner. Gamer. Voracious reader. So on and so forth.

This thought of “who am I” has played in my brain for tears. Babylon 5 posed the question in one of their best episodes. It was 1995. Season 2, episode 21, Comes the Inquisitor. Delenn’s character is tested at the command of the Vorlons. All she has to do is tell the inquisitor who she is.

That percolated in my mind for a while. Who am I? Not, what am I? Or who do you think I am?

When you were a kid, who were you? I was a future scientist or heart surgeon and on some days a businessperson. Yup, I dreamed of office equipment and typing. My dad would take me to his office sometimes. He always left me with a secretary who would let me put magnetized letters on the file cabinets or put paper in her typewriter and make the tap tapping noise.

There were so many possibilities. Everything was on the table. Except at some point, I needed to pick something and stick with it. Right? Many of us probably got the talk about getting a job and making it as an adult. Maybe some of us went to college, others got married, some traveled, and some didn’t really go anywhere.

What happened to all those possibilities? They seemed to evaporate like mist blanketing a new morning. Bills needed to be paid, children to take care of and a mortgage strapped to you. You make a life. The life you are told makes you the good girl/guy.

But what if? What if you took a job in a faraway state because you want to? Would the bills still be paid? What kind of job would you like if you could do anything? What if you had some passive money streams that would support you and let you pay the bills? What would you pick as something you want to do?

When we are children this all seemed so easy. We are more ourselves. Until we are labeled and accept that which isn’t us as a patch on our skin suit. As an adult it is very hard to throw some of that off. Can you begin to see who you are?

I still love office supplies. All of them. Post it notes. Delicious. Pens, papers, organizational things. That is a true piece of who I am, so I’ll hold on to that patch.

I am a writer. I’ll keep that one.

I love to journal. That’s part of me.

But if I get down to the nitty gritty, my highest hope is I am love. Solves pretty every single problem in the universe. Why put limits on yourself?

Who are you?