Mirror, Mirror: Who Am I?

by Susan Clemons

Who am I? That’s a question I find myself asking fairly often these days. I look in the mirror and don’t have the slightest idea of who I’m looking at sometimes. Do I even have an identity anymore? All the energy I’ve put into looking at myself, looking at beliefs, conquering fears, and changing perspectives through trust and acceptance with the hope of transforming myself into the ultimate conscious creator, where has it gotten me and what am I now?

It seems easier to think of who I’m not than who I am. I’m not the little kid who dreamed of an exciting future any more. I’m not the 20 something who saw my whole life ahead of me, or the 30 something who wanted to establish myself, or even the 40 something who felt I was finally coming into my own. I can find plenty of labels and boxes to put myself into but none of them seem to fit even though friends and acquaintances seem anxious to pop me, along with themselves, into the box of the day. This one’s too tight, that one’s too tall, another one’s full of lumps and bumps, and that one over there is just a tad too soft. And no amount of fancy paper and pretty ribbons applied to the outer package changes my mind at all.

When I look back on the dazzling array of roles I’ve played in my life and then forward to the possibility of new roles I might try I think, “will the real me please stand up?” Yes, that’s it, finding the “real” me seems to be the quest of the day. Is there such a thing as a “real” me? Does such an animal exist? I stand in front of the mirror twisting and turning looking at myself from every angle possible to see if there’s one that I’ve missed that will reveal the magic answer. No such luck. A myriad of past and present me’s seem to appear and disappear in a kaleidoscope of images. I turn to the closet and find almost any role I want waiting for me to step into it, but no “real” me to be found anywhere. Just a pinch of my mother here, a sprinkling of my father there and maybe some of grandpa over there. Nothing recognizable as me at all.

Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place. Maybe memories, mirrors, and my closet simply aren’t where I’ll find the answer. What’s left? Words. All those labels floating through my head bouncing around like little steel balls in a pin ball machine gone wild. And there I am frantically batting the flippers trying to keep all the balls going at once so I can rack up more and more points. Suddenly I realize the roles and labels can’t be me if I’m the one manning the flippers. So where do I go from here?

Thinking of labels and boxes I finally wonder if maybe the problem is with nouns and objects. When I think about what’s real about me, there are no nouns, no solid things or objects, no tidy little categories to fit myself into. So I try letting go of all those shiny little nouns to see what’s left. As I watch the last little steel ball disappear down the slot I realize verbs and processes are what’s left. I feel a little awkward and uncomfortable just standing there without all that “stuff”. It’s oddly silent to begin with. No bells and whistles going off, no ding ding ding as the points rack up, just that funny little clacking sound of now useless flippers until I realize there’s nothing left to flip.

With a little practice I begin to realize there’s movement here but nothing solid. Yes, this feels better. No boxes, no steel balls, and best of all no flippers, no points to worry about either. How funny, I discover that my life isn’t out there in front of me any more at all and there’s nothing to manipulate. Everything is right here inside me. Boundaries come unstuck and start flowing into whole movements that are the living pattern of my days. I find I’m suddenly free, creative, and uniquely individual, a multiplicity of talents, qualities and personality formed out of the intimate bonds of a lifetime of growth and experience. No longer some “thing” to be pointed to, measured, or manipulated, but simply the ongoing awareness of the experience of self created, self directed, self expression.

So… this is what it feels like to be the “real” me, a conscious creator continually in the process of creating myself anew each moment of the day. Free to make myself what I will with each new choice I give myself, taking responsibility and credit for the whole of it. I think I like this me.