What do you do when you're 36 years old and you finally have the chance to be the person you always wanted to be? You feel free, for the first time in your life, to live for yourself and love yourself.
What do you do when you're 36 years old and you realize, like a punch to the gut, that you have absolutely no clue who you really are? What do you do when you realize in the middle of your Great Awakening that started out making you feel like you were on top of the world, like there was nothing you couldn't accomplish, that everything you've ever done has been done for the sole purpose of getting validation from everyone around you?
What do you do when you are forced to question every interest you've ever had, every hobby you thought you loved, every part of yourself that has, until this moment, been so integral to your core essential personality that it never even occurred to you to question its existence?
I don't know, but that is the exact point at which I now find myself. Who is the real me? What would the real me do if he didn't have to worry about how anyone else would react to him? How does the real me fit in with those I love?
When I had my major existential crisis last Sunday, my mom suggested that I write, that I make a list of all the things I enjoy doing, all the things I'm good at. In my head I scoffed at the idea. I mean, what good would a list do? How would I even create a list when I doubt the genuineness of everything that might appear on that list? How do I start a list of things when all that is in my head is a million questions?
What do I know I love?
1. I love reading. I love literature. I've loved reading since I was a child; although, it was probably born out of a desire for escape. Then again, isn't that what literature is to everyone who loves to read? So, okay. I'll give myself that one. I heart books for realz.
2. I love music more than anything else in the world. It speaks to me and for me and through me. (At this moment, music is pumping through my headphones into my ears and through my soul. Can you feel it?)
3. I remember lying in bed when I was in second grade and fantasizing about being a school teacher. I planned every aspect of my classroom. (At that point, it had a ride-on train in it.) I envisioned myself standing in front of a room full of eager faces. I don't know why I have always wanted to be a teacher, but I know that I love it (even if the faces I now see in front of me are less than eager).
4. I love food. I love cooking it and I love eating it. I love trying new foods. I love cooking with someone and sharing the experience of creating something together.
What do I know I'm good at?
This is the really hard one to write. I have sat here, not typing a word, for several minutes. Ever since I can remember, I have dipped my hands in as many things as I could in order to maximize on praise and validation. For this reason, I am just okay at doing lots of things. I worked as hard at them as I needed to in order to become just proficient enough to be complimented on them. This might sound like I'm being self-deprecating and dramatic, but it's true.
I started taking piano lessons in kindergarten. I breezed through all the beginning books, amazing my teacher and my parents. I lapped up the praise like it was liquid gold. And then I quit taking lessons. Because my heart wasn't really in it, I knew I didn't want to put the hours and hours of practice in every day that would make me really good at it. After that, I basically taught myself to play. I put various pieces in front of me and learned them, note by note. To this day, I enjoy playing the piano, but my technique has very distinct limits.
I used to be fascinated as a child, watching my mom paint and draw and sew and create things. I started creating things, too, knowing that it would serve as a bonding agent between us. I was okay at it and still am, I guess. I went to art school for a year, thinking that I was going to be an interior architect. But when I got there, and reality hit, I discovered that I was not the artist that I thought I was in my head. Kids there had real talent, true creativity. They did things I could never imagine coming up with. I did things I was proud of, sure. I amazed myself a few times and learned a lot. But I did just well enough to get by and was more often embarrassed than not.
I've kept a journal since probably first grade. When I got into my teens, and then throughout adulthood, I wrote in my journal as if it would one day become a biography, like someone might sit and read it. I tried to emulate the styles of whatever books I was reading, mimicking each author's syntax and voice. In college, I got mostly A's on every paper, story, and essay I wrote. Maybe I'll be a writer, I would think to myself. But then, when I tried to write something, to really write something substantial, I discovered that, like all my other undertakings, I was mediocre, good enough to get compliments from family and friends, but not good enough to be the writer I saw in my head when I wrote. I continue to write now (obviously) but to what end, I have no clue.
This list could go on: I sing. I compose music. I build things. I do interior painting. I cook and bake. I can get by, but if I'm really honest with myself, I started all these hobbies because I was addicted to validation; I was literally a praise junky. I felt like I was worthless unless I was being praised for something, so I spun as many plates at once as I could.
This is possibly one of the most important (and hardest) lessons I could learn at this crazy point in my life: I don't need to be an expert at everything I do in order to be valid as a person. While this is, on one hand, a major blow to my ego, it is also very freeing. In theory, anyway.
What do I know I want?
1. I know I want to get married. I have fantasized about this as well since childhood. In junior high, I used to listen to music every night when I went to bed. I would play out, from meeting to dating to marriage and beyond, my life with the man I would eventually end up with. (He had red hair and his name was Bryce. *shrug*)
2. I know I want children. One thing I can't say I am currently good at but something I know I will be awesome at is being a dad. To quote Jeremy from The Secret of NIMH (only the single best animated film ever produced), "I love kids and kids love me."
3. I know that I want to live closer to my family. I love each of them more than I can possibly express. Knowing that they are growing older while I live two thousand miles away kills me. I know that I laugh until I cry and until I can't breathe when I'm with them.
Is this enough for me to go off of? Are there enough raw materials here to mold a new person? Might there be things I discover that I never knew? Will I become like Theseus' ship? And is it such a bad thing if I do: there are certainly a few of my boards that need replacing. Right now, my main concern is staying afloat and not what my ship looks like when all is said and done.
Then again, if that were really true, would I be writing this blog post?
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