At the moment I am in the midst of a job search, or rather a career search, or more broadly, a life search. Where will I live? What will I do there? Who will I meet? And most importantly, what will I think of myself? Who is the person I want to become?
I’ve reporached myself for getting caught up in not sending enough apps and doing too much self reflection, but a career coach today pointed out I might need to do some more. I think she is right- I do need to craft some kind of professional identity in order to move forward. It’s also become clear to me that pretty much the same thing will be necessary for my personal life, to move forward with fulfilling romantic relaitonships and friendships.
And I need to accept this person that I find, always becoming yet always there looking up from the very bottom of me, underneath all the detritus of time and place. Is there a socratic form of the ideal me, that I need to define and strive for, or am I just a process in real time, or the silent witness underneath it all?
In the final scene of the Amazing Spiderman, the new one, the teacher speaking of Shakespeare says that the central question is “Who am I?” and that is the only question in all of literature. I guess I am tending to agree.
And since I’d prefer to begin my job search from self reflection, self confidence, and having a sense of what I want, I actually think it will be less painful, and more important, to define who I am as opposed to simply sending resumes into the void of online application systems. Yes, there’s a lot mroe I need to do. Not thinking too much, but reflecting.
So who am I? I am about to turn 25 in ten days, and I think it’s something worth reflecting on. I also think I’ve actually become somebody.
Yes, I think I have.
As much as that people pleasing, hating the finality of making a choic indecisive person that I sometimes am objects, i KNOW that is the key to happiness, that thing I’ve been seeking over hill and dale, moor and mountain, from the hills of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, following yonder star as it were.
Who am I?
Not just in relation to others, just a combination of traits, but really how do all those parts work together? A fascinating and narcissistic mystery or really the philosopher’s stone?
Who am I?
I am a person of vision, humor, and compassion, who often sees the connections others do not. I am as at home in a hostel as a five star hotel, who loves everything except for sports, and even that I can stand. I am tolerant, open minded, and kind, quick to be compassionate though too harsh on myself sometimes. I am a strategic thinker, a little choatic, who doesn’t really like having a structured plan. I like seeing what happens, but I want to control the chess board;l i am an artist of life with an MBA. I’ve seen a whole lot of the world, have loved and lost, and been single for a while now. I am a writer, a communicator, always looking for connection; a poet searching for transcendence; a seeker who knows it is time to arrive.
I’m just an opening in the celestial vault, a little hole where light shd nes through, coming in all sorts of irridescent colors; I am the hole, the filter that makes the colors, and the light altogether, and strangely enough, I am the eye that sees itself.
What I am is a modern day adventurer, a woman who wants a husband and family, an intellectual who wants to make a real world impact. I am a native speaker of English but love French, am a proud American who feels home in Europe, Paris especially.
I ama brilliant flash o fpassion and intellect and creativity; I am a Mona Lisa smile with arms outstretched like a madonna. I am green and verdant but glorious like fall.
I am the sparkle of a diamond on the wall. I am eyes not blue nor green nor gray.
I am this rare ephemeral thing, as are you, and somehow my strangeness, my uniqueness, is beautiful like a princess in her tower much as its force is terribly strong.
I am a dragon flying out of the depths, whose scream goes straight to your guts. I am a hammered dulcimer playing an ancient tune while a moon is out and your voice speaks to the man on the moon.
I am a candle burning brightly, but much more than that. Not just light and knowledge ad reason, I am butterflies and diamonds and velvvet and silk and jasper.
I am a little bit of gorgeous madness filtered through a white cloth to make all the colors of the rainbow.
A river that flows, flows, towards the shore.
At the heart of me, there’s a bit of nothing and everything, some Coloeridge and Whitman, some Burke and some Hayek, some Jefferson and some Marguerite de Navarre.
And when all is said and donoe, I guess the eye I is just the hole in the celestrial vault, that one day is splendor will be transformed into a larger and white light without losing its sparkle, when the cloth ahs been removed and the hole is no more.