Sixties Chick

The cryptic message on the machine said, “This week, ask yourself this question: Who Am I?”

Damn her, that Dona. Do I need this? And from a friend no less. Doesn’t she know I’m smack in the middle of a “freaking out over finances” frenzy? There’s been no trickle trickling down and the cash that needs to flow has dried up somewhere in that proverbial pipeline. Where’s my stimulus package?

So with time on my hands and against my will and better judgment, I begin to ponder. Let’s see. Who am I? Dear me. Maybe it’s better to start with who I am not.

Clearly, most people would agree I am not my bank account (thank God), my marital status, the car I drive, the house I live in, the success and failure of my kid, or the pedigree (or not) of my dog. And with all due respect to nutritionists, not even the food I eat.

OK. So, maybe I am She who writes. It is, after all, how I like to define myself. But then, what if I never wrote another word? Suppose I got permanent writer’s block or my digits were blown to bits? Who would I be then? And if I am She who writes, do I need to qualify it with I am She who writes less well than Faulkner, a major He who wrote? Can I define myself as such without even a book to my name? That can’t be.

Am I She of the accrued experiences that began in May of 1947? She whose mother died when she was 16? She, the second of four girls? She who lived abroad? She who speaks Portuguese, and loves the arts? She, a mother at 40 with a liberal bent and a rebellious streak? Is that really who I am? Might seem so, but I think not.

Half way through the week, feeling quite put out by the whole exercise, I conclude that I am not my body, my nationality, my education or my religion. I am not my personality, not even my talents or my flaws.

How could I be She who doubts her own capacity? Or She who worries about money? Or She who looks in the mirror and sees crow’s feet instead of light? In my understanding of the cosmology, limited as it is, what sense would it make to be She who is not enough? But, at times, that’s how I see myself. Sometimes, I think that’s who I am.

I’m still working hard on this, though I expect a breakthrough any day. For now, I’m stripping away the best I can – the roles, the stories, the beliefs, the ego’s small vision of who I am. My answer, I suspect, will be found in that deep and silent place where the mind can not go. I’m hoping for something like She who’s fulfilling her purpose. Whatever it is, I will get to the bottom of it.

And when I’m asked how it is I came to know myself, to be so very enlightened, I will smile and say, with gratitude, “T’was all that extra time on my hands, thanks to a lousy recession.”

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