I do a lot of thinking. Kind of why I keep this thing around. At any rate, the other day I sort of considered, during a quiet moment, who I am at this period in time, and how I seem to have discovered what I want to do. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I can do my job without being miserable. Which is important. Not only do many people dislike their jobs, I feel sometimes a little guilty that my particular job–Working with children with mental health/behavior issues–ought to make me more depressed. So I started thinking. And then I wrote.
I sit in a curriculum room, awaiting the start of pre-group meeting. Focus on my breathing. Relax. Everything I brought in with me is fading, ideally, to some mental back-burner that stores the laughter and stresses of the outside world. It’s an odd feeling, compartmentalizing myself. The changing of metaphorical hats.
I had always thought of myself as a chameleon. I assumed I had an ability to change myself as situations, social or professional, dictated. What I didn’t realize until recently is that that analogy is shallow, based on appearances. Colors and facades, with only the mechanical organism itself continuous and whole beneath.
My mind isn’t fragmented, or made up of transient aspects. It is the organism. It’s me. My wealth of experience: good, bad, and boring. And my thoughts and memories thereof. My likes and dislikes. The smell of fresh rain of asphalt and hypocrites.
When I’m here, my mind turns. Presents its shell. The segmented back of an armadillo can face the slings and arrows that makes up the outrageous fortunes of others. As well as protect the smooth, pink skin and hairy feelers of the more emotional me.
Here, I look for meaning, but not for my meaning. I look for patterns and signs, signals and tics, but not for a response in myself. I’m not cold, by any means. But not quite warm either. I’m removed. Purportedly objective. But with a bright, engaged look on my face. A genuine smile on top of calculated analysis.
It’s a strange feeling, one that shocked me at first. But one that I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with. I’m good at this.
When I think of myself now, I don’t think of a chameleon. A crowd pleasing harlequin. I think of a toolbox. A set of skills and behaviors. A vocabulary.
I’m what I think, what I do, and most importantly what I can do. That’s all I need to know.
I’ve gotten more than a few questions relating to how I came to this point. I wish I knew. Partially because if I could write it down, I would make millions. But all I will say is this. If you think you need to find yourself, you need to stop looking and start doing. You need to feel, you need to hurt a bit, and then get better. And you need to find hope. A goal. Then you need to control what you do. Exercise your will.
Believe in yourself, slowly, incrementally, one tiny step at a time. Get straight up in the morning without hitting snooze. Go to the gym at the end of the day. Prove to yourself that you can do whatever it is you want to. Then you’ll see you’re strong. You’ll do things you’re proud of. Find things you’re good at. And then, and only then, you can be yourself. Not the things you think you’re looking for.
That’s it.
RJC
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