Who am I? Today I am the thief of blog ideas…

I am sure I sat down with an idea of what to write about but I was distracted by the writing of a few others… Sometimes friends, when I read your words I feel connected, pained, or something clicks and everything you’ve said for 20 years suddenly makes sense or I become enthralled completely with what you’ve been thinking…

So with too many people saying things this morning that made me feel I sit here baffled, befuddled, bungling my morning time. Damn you, love you, but feeling in the morning is not my strong suit.

Admitting that I like to be a robot in the AM out of the way I am onto my own personal me-ness. Who is me?

I was raised in several towns all along the… no. That is not the kind of me I’m looking for.

Somewhere between conception and landing in Sellwood I developed a sense of self, a me-ness if you will. How did that happen? How did I come to be the particular me that sits in my dim little dungeon room pouring words onto the keyboard?

I don’t rightly know. I can look back on my life and add up all the bits and pieces, scraps, scars, smiles and glimpses that shaped my thoughts and emotions but I still won’t know. What if I had been nicer to one person, or what if I had a day I was just a little more snarky. What if I this or that? I am not a what-iffer. I never have been. Can’t see worrying that much about my past when it is something that can not change. The only thing that can change is my thoughts on it. I look back on things that marked me so deeply ten, fifteen, twenty years ago and some of them make me laugh now. How could I have really been so upset, overjoyed, confused, apathetic about that? I really have no idea. I do know though that the way I dealt with all that crap is what makes me deal with life the way I do. I like the way I deal with life… for the most part.

Life happened to me and I happened to life. I like to think I took everything in stride along the way but I didn’t, some things made me rage and cry when I probably should have suffered them quietly. Some things I suffered quietly when it would have been better to speak up and ask for help. But looking back on all my life happenings I regret very little, so I can say with certainty that I am not one for regrets. Changing one little thing in my past would make the whole world of me a different place.

That still doesn’t tell me who I am. It tells me what I have done, where I have been and what I felt about those people and things. It tells me that some people in my past that seemed so important at the time mean nothing, and some of those that seemed relatively inconsequential I still think of, speak to or long for their friendship all the time. I can look back and see things that have shaped me, but I still can not seem to see the shape of me.

I would like to think I’ve become an amazing mother and wife, a fantastic lover, a great friend and daughter, sister, writer, thinker. That I care about the things that really matter and that I am a person who doesn’t sweat the small stuff.

Those are things I would like to think… but they aren’t necessarily true and they don’t answer the question… Who is me?

The only thing I can find re-reading this travesty of thought is that I like me, whoever I am…