I’ve had one of those afternoons wherein I find myself in need of a good “write,” in need of centering—of returning again to the source of being. Every time—it seems—that I come close to grasping at the reality of who I am, I find myself far-flung, miles away from who I think I am or who I long to be.
Yet, still I ask, who am I? In a sense, I am a sum of my experiences—that is, I am either a product (to a certain extent) of my experiences or I have been shaped by my experiences. Every journey, every mundane day or night, every adventure, every dry lecture or sermon, every expression of love…or rejection—these have all had a hand in making me who I am. Every book I’ve read—fiction or non, every character I’ve met…or whose life I’ve lived in each novel—these personalities have had their imprint on my life. Every friend, family member, student, co-worker, even the man who sweeps the grocery store parking lot near our apartment—all of these have molded me towards being me.
Still, not just experiences and people past affect who I am. Who I dream of being, who I wish to emulate, where I want to be, the kind of person I desire to be—all of these also give birth to who I am. One has said, “We become what we think about all day long.” In truth, I am discovering that we do become what we hope to be, what we long for. Not the empty pining, mind you…the serious, thought-out, willing-to-live-differently kind of hope.
Who am I? I am a person…a person in process of becoming who I am not. I am who I was…and I am who I will be. And the journey to becoming is exciting, frustrating, exhilarating, depressing…and all of those experiences and the people they involve all have a hand in making me who I am. Now, have you got that…and isn’t everything clear now?? ha, ha…. At the very least, I learn yet again that “I” is not a static concept but a process…and can enjoy the journey rather than look for some eluding destination that will probably never materialize. Chao.