I was asked 2 years ago by someone I respect “What is it that I wanted to be in this life”. At the time I bookmarked it, because I wanted to answer & more importantly “think” about doing vs. being in this life. My answer given 2 years ago below:
I don’t want to romanticize my answer about “What is it that I wanted to be in this life”. or conjure one that I think humans generally feel they have to give (to questions like this). I don’t want to say something eloquent for the sheer excitement that embellished tales garner nor for the internal gall one summons to say it, to put it into words…things and stuff that even they don’t believe. I am far too honest with myself to attempt to beguile others with the “words” I possess. Past approval, past acceptance, which I’m not actively seeking, yet must want…I desire to be clear, always. I want to be real, and authentic with myself and others even when its harsh, and ugly. I can stand myself, thank god…
I am many things that I didn’t know I wanted to be, but I am grateful that despite ignorance and or oblivion I somehow found my way-meaning i’m not where I could be…in either realms…but more good than bad. There, where I had no clue I wanted to be, the things I thought I wanted, in fact didn’t or learned that I wasn’t willing to work for them. My vision has often been short sighted, years that I never believed would come…simply because my view of “time” was skewed. Thinking things further than they actually were, approaching 1993 and passing it-with a new baby.
While lost and misguided… time kept ticking. 3 1/2 years and another baby~years beyond what I couldn’t fathom reaching and no thought of repair. Another 5, and then 5 more years. All the while my plans, and dreams once wished for/hoped for were falling through cracks, at times due to my own sabotage, irresponsibility, negligence and much much sacrifice leading to a level of demise/mediocrity (at least outwardly so, circumstantially). Beating heart within flesh, functioning being….a rote existence (quasi). I find myself in average circumstances, quantifiable and yet somehow I continue to feel extraordinary.
I am bursting to “be” what I feel, what I believe that I am, though words escape any true description because I perhaps don’t really know what it is, what to call it. I feel different, I feel so uniquely special yet i’m aware that there are countless people like me or enough. Who am I to require bandages for old wounds/slights/wrongs, etc.? Maybe I’m just mad, as in lunacy…but do the insane think this way?
And hurting, at how far removed I am from actualization of any possibility, to realistically develop the underdeveloped me and wondering if it’s past…with me standing on the side watching it fade-resigned. In all honesty I do not possess an answer to the question posed…be? haaaaa! (insert maniacal laughter, for effect…truly) incredulously I say that I’ve had no time for me and life has, to this point consumed me. Busy “doing” I have deferred to my detriment. I know this all sounds so macabre, I think though that you understand.
*2 years post writing this…I realize that I was near peaking…Today, Now, Here in these moments…daily…I AM bursting at my seams, I find myself on the edge of “being”. Stay tuned~
Schemain, an acquired taste.