or I'm Not Who You Think I Am...
or Mid-Life Confessions...
or Strip.
No matter what the title, this is a post about middle age. About brutally assessing myself and what I’ve become at this moment in time, all influences aside. Answering “who am I?” is not as easy as it sounds. Finding the real person beneath who our parents raised, society influenced us to be, our relationships created, or that people think we are, is a challenge.
Asking, just plainly and nakedly, who (alone) am I is hard. I know that it's impossible to be objective or to completely dissect ourselves into autonomous beings. But as an exercise in self awareness I think exploring the question has merit. There are always going to be issues and psychological defense mechanisms blinding us. But I'm not talking about probing those kind of depths. That type of self awareness is a life-long, and hard won process. I'm just talking about the little stuff that we often take for granted. I mean, what is it you enjoy? Not because you like the idea of it, or how it reflects upon you, but what honestly gives you pleasure? Is it something that you can own freely or are you a little embarrassed by it? Or, are you like me, and find yourself so entrenched in old assumptions and priorities that you aren’t even sure they belong to you any more?
As a child I swam a lot. My mom had us on swim teams for years leaving me an entire album full of ribbons and medals. I didn’t like swimming. The truth is that I don’t like being cold, or wet, or so exposed. In fact, I can honestly say now that I HATE swimming. But I was just a child doing what was expected of me, something all of us experience as kids.
Later, as an adult, we lived in a wonderful, artsy, liberal community of artists, activists, academics, and idealists. All things which I, at that stage of my life, valued. My neighbor and I formed a playgroup and I took Zoe to mommy-child art and music classes. We lived in diversity and among the "beautiful people" and I liked a lot about being there. It was nice. We had a cute little house, a garden, and a passable social life. But who was that? Who was the Sharon that shopped at "the Merc", cooking everything from scratch and going so far as to make my baby completely homemade broccoli quiche for lunch and refusing her any kind of prepared foods? The truth is that I wouldn't (then or now) touch broccoli quiche to save my life. Not to mention I absolutely hate socializing and small talk. It was simply (albeit hypocritically) who I dreamt myself into being. Having Zoe and playing a parental role changed, if not me, my behaviors. As did marriage. 24 years of co-habitating with another soul drives you to the center of somewhere between who you are and who your partner is. Like the classic Seinfeld episode "relationship George" and "independent George" both exist, and a "George divided against itself cannot stand".
So, as you can see, I’ve been pondering identity. Once you strip away 19 years of childhood/parental influence, 24 years of marital compromise, and 17 years of parenthood, what’s left? How much of the life I participated in building has ended up dictating who I’ve become? And, is striving to be my “better self” appropriating my true self and by extension my life? I don’t know. It’s just been on my mind lately.
