This is a question I’d asked myself more times than there are blades of grass in a summer field.
Who am I?
Every time I asked this question, though I had an answer, none of them satisfied me and I was able to, with precision, knock down each. Who am I? Well, I am a Chef. No. I am not my career. I am a sister, an aunt, a partner. No, I am not defined by these, either.
Who am I? I am a nice person? Hm. I am not my personality characteristics. Crap. Who am I, then?
For years I never I had a response that resonated, that stuck, that I couldn’t poke holes in, rendering it defunct.
Then I remembered some of what I’d learned in life. I remembered the interconnectivity of all things, all people and, indeed, this entire planet we call home. I remembered Carl Sagan reminding us we’re made of the same materials as everything in this known universe, that we’re all, in the end, star dust.
I remembered my readings of Jiddu Krishnamurti, then he reminded us we are the world, psychologically and that, when we understand ourselves, we understand the whole human structure.
I remembered we’re not islands, not insular, not divided, as we’re so often indoctrinated to believe.
I realized, with a tremendous start, that I’d been asking the wrong question. The moment I changed the question, the response came to immediately, stuck and forever shaped me.
What am I?