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 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.
Declaring yourself terrible is too easy.
Writing yourself off like that is an excuse . . . a way of hiding behind ideals of perfection.
I want to be the best version of myself I can be.
A mistake I make at least twice a year is getting so wrapped up in things like outcomes and returns—the results of “being my best self”—that I end up trying to be someone else.
I can relate. I spent my teens and 20’s cycling through identities based on attractive qualities I saw in others.
What stops me from being my authentic self is searching for my authentic self.
Some feel pressured to be something that doesn’t come natural to what they really are.
Who I am is every aspect or quality I could be identified with.
This is actually an ongoing choice, and I’m glad whenever I’m forced to make it; it’s a choice that changes my life the same wonderful way each time. Continue reading
A friend and I were walking back to my house once after school.
Some kids started harassing my friend, laughing at him, and just trying to get a rise. Continue reading