When I was a teenager, I thought that I was supposed to trying to “find” myself, and perhaps I did some work about that, but I don’t think my heart was in it. I’ve always known who I was, I think. So why did I need to find myself?
For whatever reason, I’ve always know what I liked and didn’t like. I knew what I thought. I had opinions about just about anything. There was no question, really, about which I didn’t have something to say, even if it was that I knew nothing about it.
I always knew what I thought was right and wrong. My notions weren’t necessarily socially acceptable ones, but I knew what I thought and why I thought it.
The first time I remember thinking about the why of things was when I was maybe 12 or so. My family together with my grandparents were driving past a cemetery. I looked at all that open space and I remembered some conversations we’d had about how the earth was running out of space for people. So I asked my parents if we needed space so much, why did we have cemeteries.
My parents couldn’t answer the question. They fumbled around, coming up with some bullshit reason.
Later on, I figured out that the purpose of cemeteries is to help people remember. It is memory space. The gravestones are memory objects. This was so simple. Why didn’t my father tell me this?
I was (and am) always trying to figure out how things work, including how I work. How does my body work? How do I think? Why do I think what I think? But these are all meta-thoughts. The basic question of who I am seems sort of obvious to me. I do stuff. I think stuff. This is who I am.
So I could take a test that tells me things about my personality, but does it really tell me anything useful? I’ve never found it useful. I’ve found sociological information useful. I’ve found psychological information useful. I have found asking other people about their experiences to be useful. But I’ve never found it useful to have someone else tell me who I am. It’s useful for them to tell me how they see me, but not for them to tell who I am.
I wonder how people can not know who they are. I feel like they are not looking if they don’t know. They are somehow dissociated from themselves. You know who you are. You’re the only one who knows who you are. You’re the only one with any consciousness of who you are from the inside.
So I feel like this search for who you are or who I am is kind of a cheat. It’s like looking for the church key (back in the days when churches were never locked). The who you find if you look is a false who. It is the looked-for who. But the real who you are is the one you have always been. The one you instinctively know. They one you would comfortably be if it weren’t for well meaning people asking you who you are.
A couple of years ago, I experienced my thinking being changed due to some medication I was taking. It changed me so dramatically that I wondered how I could be the same person as the one I was before I took the meds. Which me is me, I wondered. I actually asked that question here, once. Harp told me that both were.
The problem was that I had been trying to disavow one part of me. I was treating it as if it were an aberration, instead of a part of me and in trying to push it away, I was hurting myself.
I am who I am. All of who I am. Fighting myself or picking and choosing bits of myself to represent me in the world doesn’t really work. I might keep things secret, but inside, I must admit to all of me.
But all that is instinctual, it seems to me. If I let it be, I know who I am. It’s when shame gets in the way that I stop knowing who I am, and then I need a therapist to help me sort it out. But I know. I always knew. And I don’t need someone else trying to tell me who I am because they always mix me up.
So when other people ask the question, it makes me feel like the same thing is happening. They are getting misdirected. The answer is right inside. They already know it. But they are being tricked into believing it lies elsewhere. It’s like a grand deception.
I find myself thinking, ‘I am who I am,’ all the time. I hesitate to write that in answers because it sounds kind of meaningless and tautological, but really all I mean is to redirect my attention from the pretty, but false ideas back to the simple one: who am I? The me I know when I don’t try to pretend I’m someone else.