My voyage of self-discovery hit turbulent seas, uncharted waters, and sharks circling the dinghy (By definition, a dinghy is a type of small boat, often carried or towed by a larger vessel. In this reference, however, the dinghy could refer to my mind, or consciousness, being towed by the larger vessel of my body. However, I could have used dingy--commonly confused with dinghy for those not current on their aquatic vernacular--which means to be a little bit ditsy, not all together there. Usually refers to a shallow or not too bright person. Both would be perfectly acceptable when referring to me and my mind.) I can barely tread water, forgot my life jacket, and there's a hole in my life raft. Plus, I sunburn really easily.
Okay, let's head to the beach for a minute, swab some zinc on your nose, grab a fruity drink with dangling paper umbrellas, and watch as reality hangs over our heads like a dark storm cloud, thunder rumbling and lightning bolts ready to strike. I've discovered lately that the cumulonimbus is always ready to descend, always threatening to rain on my parade, always whipping the seas into a frenzy tossing my poor ol' dingy into the rocks.
I realized that the more I learn about myself the more questions I have. That could be construed as valuable; it means I'm always learning, always growing, always changing, always willing to see a different side of things with an open mind. But it can create chaos, utter confusion, and actually cause me to look in the mirror and not recognize the face staring back at me. I might perceive me to be one way, and someone else sees me in a totally different light, and a third person sees someone else entirely. How can I say that I am just me, when there are so many mes that different people see? (Okay, now I sound like a Dr. Seuss book, perhaps called How Many Mes Do You See? with a three-headed traumblebot on the cover...I made that up. There's no such thing as a traumblebot. No, not even in a Dr. Seuss book. Seriously, I'm not a traumblebot...but you have to admire that it's a mythical three-headed creature and I used its name three times. Yeah, I'm clever like that.)
So anyway, who am I, really? Why can one person think I'm all that, while another thinks I'm no good, when another thinks I'm quiet while the other person thinks I'm too loud? How can I be all that and still be able to say I'm just me? Just me? WHO IS JUST ME? And which me is right? The one I think I am, or the one he, she, or they think I am? Maybe I'm a chameleon, a different person to different people depending on who that person needs me to be, while remaining true to myself when I get home and shed the exterior of what the world believes me to be. Can I be a sober drunk? A lazy jogger? An ugly beauty? A thin fat person? A messy maid? Can I be June Cleaver, Marge Simpson and Roseanne Conner all rolled into one? Or can I simply just be?
I have learned some interesting things about myself in recent weeks, some I've had a feeling about, others I pretty much knew already but certain events removed all doubt, and others I never even had a clue about. But age brings wisdom, and with it a deeper understanding of our human complexities and simplicities, our machinations and our divine enlightenments, our morals, motivations, thought process, consciousness, habits, tendencies, values, dreams, goals, and failures. Each of those discoveries helps us to be a more complete person, able to be who we need to be to whomever we need to be that way with. That will keep us on the right path in life, seeking answers to the questions about who and why we are.
Someone once told me that I am the hardest person to live with. Am I? Aren't we all? I've never heard anyone say "So and so is the easiest person to live with." But take it from someone who has lived with me for 43 and a half years and has reveled in her dingy dinghy--I ain't so bad!
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