An older friend of mine, okay, he’s not a friend, he’s my brother, recently wrote about, “Who Am I?” He told of being asked this question by a psychologist who refused his answers of stock broker, husband, father, Catholic and what not. Like the doctor was some kind of guru, or something. Anyway, the first thing I thought, being his nicey-nice sister was, “I’ll tell you who you are–you’re an idiot!”
I didn’t post that comment to him, though, because I didn’t want to get a sock in the nose, or worse. Instead, I wrote, “You are a person who believes what psychologists say.”
You know? I get tired of these men and women of mental science sitting on mountaintops, whether real or imagined, spouting nonsense about our inner beings and having everyone think they’re correct. I say, just because one says something with confidence doesn’t mean that it’s true. Sometimes, you just gotta use your head, man, and figure it out for yourself.
For example, take the question, “Who am I?” I think most of us answer something about our occupations. Yet, there are doctors who have claimed, “we are what we eat.” Now, who is going to say, like JFK in Berlin, “I am a jelly doughnut,” (literal translation of, “Ich bin ein Berliner.”) However, if we really are what we eat, I would be a pizza–interpret what you want from this information, it is rather revealing…
I think that people who answer, “I am so-and-so’s wife, husband, etc., and don’t elaborate on what that entails exactly, need to get a life of their own. I remember this woman in my watercolor class who identified herself as, “Dr. So N. So’s wife.” Yet she painted recognizable, if not spectacular, landscapes, unlike the rest of the class.
So, I say, when asked, “Who are you?” never let people know you’re partnered with someone. For more reasons than one, I suppose. Say something about who you wish to become, like, “I am a painter. By the way, heh-heh, you’d look good in cerulean blue.” Okay, you don’t have to put in that last part–I stuck that in to see if you were paying attention.
My point is, YOU ARE WHAT YOU WISH YOU WERE. Whatever it is that is disturbing you enough to cause you to wonder, “Who am I?” is most likely connected to some unrealized dream vision of yourself. Consequently, you get depressed thinking you’re going to die having accomplished nothing, and you ask yourself silly questions that will twist your brain up like a jogger’s panties.
“But, wise old crone,” you say. “Are you advocating lying to people?”
“Why yes,” I say. “If you tell enough people you are a musician, then you’d best start practicing that harp.” I call this manner of identifying oneself, “self-realization through prevarication.” Pretty snappy title for a new self-help book, huh?
That said, I am a humorist.
Sandy Pants 