Sometimes I’m aware enough of my ongoing identity crisis to glimpse the sheer silliness in my utter desperation to lock down a livable “I” blueprint at all costs.
Describing the experience of watching myself shift between viable “I” models might sound somewhat Suesswellian…
But to me it’s been finding in the place of any actual “I” only that which awareness and conception might convey of an ever shifting “why” that merges in each moment as combinations of forces occurring to me as values each and all wanting to use my life to exist.
Living without identity always leads me back to asking: What if there is no real “I” beyond just an idea given to account for and make sense of an evolving “why”?
Or: What would it mean if “why” causes “I,” so “I” is a story that exists only in relation to “why”?
Though ego works with every framework to hold me to my current story, sometimes the constant shifting shows me also what’s beneath.
I had to see 2 things at once.
First, weed has always been valuable to me for specific reasons.
It’s been too easy to enjoy its value at the expense of other values.
And seeing my other important values held back made me try to quit weed so many times . . . though I always failed.
What changed everything was simply sharing my story over time.
Sharing allowed me to see both why I love weed and also all those other good things too much weed infringed upon and hindered.
Through sharing my story, I faced my addiction, my perspective changed, and weed is no longer something I lose control to.
The times we’re living in.
Let’s say you wake up everyday and go to work for someone else, essentially giving them and their dreams most of your time.
Before landing my most recent job, I interviewed for months.
The experience was always the same.
Driving to the interview, I’d be rehearsing responses to whatever difficult questions I guessed might be asked.
Imagine seeing your true potential.
You catch a vision of yourself rising above every limitation and weakness.
I look back fondly to a time when my religious beliefs were the bedrock core of my identity, the driving passion behind my ambitions, and the framework I used for understanding every experience and idea.
I always felt pressured to be an extrovert.
More specifically, I felt like I was supposed to be this sunny, caring cheerleader type who brightened everyone’s day with my bubbly demeanor.
I used to get lost in daydreams.
In fact, I wish I still did.
I think at the core of the INFJ you find a peaceful stillness.
Back when I was fighting addiction, I had this feeling all I needed to do was share my real addiction experience over time—that going public like that would force my perspective to change, and keep me accountable to moving forward and growing.
So I sat down one night and started writing.