Who the hell am I? By Chelsea Kimble

Two weeks before I was to turn twenty six I woke up one morning and realized "I don’t like anything!" Ok, that’s not the exact truth, but it’s to that effect. I am in real need of figuring out who I am, what I like, what I am doing in this lifetime that I have. I don’t think it’s some over the top answer that I need to sulk over. The reality is, I have a strong spiritual conviction about who and why and so forth. However, the practicality of that, on a human day to day level has been blurred and misconfigured. For the past four years I've been sitting around liking everything, because that meant I could be friends with everyone and never miss out on anything and, also never be alone. (Though I am a true introvert and need my alone recharging time.) In theory I didn’t want to be disconnected from the world. 

There is most definitely the fear of missing out. And this fear, I believe has caused me more missing out, then that which I have feared, as it has halted me in it’s grip. Many times, from speaking out and walking out into the world, ready to live, ready to risk. I have deliberately hid behind other’s choices of what to do, what to think, desperate for closeness and security. Afraid to seek out my own pursuits and desires. Afraid my journey, following my dreams, would be long and lonely. I would miss out on friendship, companionship, closeness. 

I didn’t want to miss living before I died. But without tastes, feelings, longings, and even dislikes, what is living? I tell you, it is the great pretend. It is wishing you were someone else, taking on their traits and desires and fears, assuming their life is better than your own. No, not just assuming, but concluding in your mind that their life is indeed more full than your own, so much so that you abandon the care of your particular life. That has been me in adulthood. Not sure what I wanted, where I would go, who to follow, what to dream. I have dreamt everyone’s dream, I have mimicked everyone’s walk. Theirs are better than mine, I’ve thought. They are happier, richer, prettier, more perfect than I. I’ve had too many let downs, made too many mistakes, nothing went right, I am not right.

(Clearly, I am controlling.) When things aren’t as I have willed, in the perfect way I have determined with my “attained” rule, my wrath is released. That is even towards myself, which looks like marking things as unworthy. This is the idol of my choice in fact, I tear just thinking about it at times, the pleasure it brings me to be in proper "control" over all things. The things that affect me and the things that don’t, basically just being the authority in my world. I fill up with this idol. So, I often forget my true place in the scheme of existence… just an earthly speck. Not anyone who should be determining what is worthy or unworthy. But I have marked myself, and probably many others as unworthy. Unworthy of good things, of love, grace maybe, time even, definitely resources, and the list could go on. I am admitting out loud, right now, I have thought very lowly of myself. 

Thus I have not made much sense of myself, who I am as an adult. I haven’t been worthy of that exasperation. Again, others have had way better lives, because things for them went the way I would deem perfect. They didn’t make the mistakes I made, and weren’t let down the way I was let down, nothing really went wrong for them. These people, these are the ones that I long to give my resources to, of course with the hopes of getting something in return! 

Well that’s shit, I obviously know and am learning. Been the year for that. And probably shouldn’t have jumped into a relationship with all that baggage. But I did, it ended of course, but it as well as every other thing that I can recount over the last twenty something years of life has led me to this moment. Me writing. Processing through this all. What the heck is going on, where do I find myself. I don’t even know. I don’t know who I am. Twenty six and figuring it out. 

It took me seven days to start writing, but now that I am, I am starting to dream, even living, for the first time in my adulthood. I want to take risk, break down walls, be responsible for the life I’ve been given. No more hiding, no pretending to wait (but not really knowing where to go, which direction), no confusion or laziness. I seek to understand, who I am. What makes me cry, what makes me laugh and smile. What breaks my heart and pains my soul. Where am I going. I am willing to suffer some pain, so real dirty, bandaid being ripped from flesh pain. That’s what I’ve been feeling ever more dramatically for the last month. It all crescendoed on my birthday, go figure. Which was day six of the seven days before I began to write. I guess the pain is producing something out of it. That is the hope at least.