Rantings 2011

I’ve come into a strange (and somewhat sad) realization: I don’t really know myself.

Yes, I can say that I’m pretty, voluptuous, and happy. I’m always smiling and I say things that can be insightful or funny. I don’t like what everyone else likes all of the time. I’d rather choose happiness over wealth. I don’t like racial or gender discrimination. Those things I know. But what else? Isn’t there more to me, more to a person, when knowing oneself. Isn’t knowing oneself conforming to your own self’s beliefs and principles amongst any circumstance? Isn’t there a consistent self?

I wish I understood those things, especially those about myself. I’ve always looked at myself from the comparison of others. I stand next to someone, and immediately, I’m comparing, I’m judging, I’m putting myself second unless I know I’m better than them. But who am I really? Growing up, it wasn’t about me by myself. It was how I was me alongside everyone else. I didn’t even realize that I did this comparison thing until I left the U.S., twenty-four years into my life. Now that I see it, I’m starting to understand so many things that have made me wonder about myself.

For instance, my former editor-in-chief kept getting on my case about my writing. “You need to find your voice.” But I couldn’t understand that. I wrote the best I could in the way I usually wrote. And since graduating from college, I’ve abandoned a career choice of becoming a physical therapist. But what do I want to do now? Ironically, it’s writing. Then there’s the lack of consistency in my daily life, like saying to run every day when I don’t or scheduling myself to read every day, but I don’t. If I can’t keep a simple promise to myself, how is it that I can keep a promise.

How do I climb out of a hole dug for twenty-four years?