Have you ever felt like you were born without a vital organ. Not like a brain or heart that would make life unlivable, but like half a lung or a kidney. And sure, you could survive for a bit without it. Eventually the doctor's would say they had found a donor for you. That they found someone who died or whatever, and you got one of their lottery organs. So you go into surgery. They put you under, you don't even know what's happening. Then you wake up and realize something is different. It feels better and weird at the same time. You can breathe better or you somehow feel cleaner. But then weird stuff starts happening that you don't like. You have suddenly acquired an incurable taste for chicken nuggets, despite being vegetarian. You crave cigarettes, even though your grandmother died from smoking. There are these changes that seem small, but ultimately have an impact on your personality.And they are things you don't like. And ultimately a few weeks later to a month your body rejects the organs.
Some times I feel like that's how my social life is. That I wasn't really born with my own personality, and instead transplanted others into my life. But they would leave bit and pieces behind before they leave. So when the next social influence comes in to my life, it disagrees with something about me.
And I've spent so long trying to fit into cliches. Why is a good question, but it's not one I have an answer to. I think because they were so easily emulated from the projections of media. And others around you played the part so well. It's easier to play Simon Says, than be Simon.
But some times you have people leave things in your life that you enjoy. And it resonates within you. Your DNA feels good, you can tell your body won't reject this. This is a missing piece in the puzzle of your identity.
Then the next social phase comes in and your compromise the little bit of your DNA that you discovered. You question its existence. Whether you ever truly felt that connection.
I have been everything from a bullied kid on the playground, to the girl who loved dogs too much, to the girl who loved to be outside, to the girl who couldn't be caught in the dirt and wore polos and pearls, to the girl who literally thought her translucent skin could pass as a chola, to a dark emblem bought from Hot Topic, to the girl who loved taking pictures instead of being in them and suddenly knew more about Ansel Adams then the man himself, to the girl who knew the entire Alto II part of the Rutter's Gloria and looked down her nose at those who didn't, to the activist for all the environment, then people, then animals, to the girl who loved services, to the businesswoman, to the Mormon, to the enlightened one.
To finally the broken and bruised and battered girl who trusted too many times and finally had too many horror stories of lost souls thrown in a pile in the back of her memory only to haunt her when she felt the most secluded.And each of those phases, no matter how contrasting all left a piece of themselves. I still love dogs and being outside in nature. I still like to get dolled up and preppy, especially when I'm getting a manicure and pinteresting Kardashian pins. I still have an absolute love for Mexican culture. I still have black hair, black glasses, black clothes, and black nails. I still love going to the art museum and looking at all the photographs taken through the years. I love classical music, and I love "conducting" music. Even if it is Diplo's "Revolution". I love serving, and I love fighting for things that deserve justice. I love the intricacies of the business world and spreadsheets in Excel. I love discussing religion and the it's fallacies and allegories.
And this right here is why I blog. Because in writing there are patterns. My life is built solely on patterns, and I need them to make sense of life. To predict the next move. And when I've lost sense of my own pattern, I can make out what the identity puzzle pieces are trying to tell me.
I still have more discovering. But I certainly need to take time and understand it's ok not to follow the cliches. No one is measuring how good you can be at being yourself. If you have "contradicting" personality types, you may of correlating values. You just need to look closer.
I love beauty and the asthetics. I love things to have a pattern. I love the aesthetics of the tangible as well as the idealistic. Beautiful, happy things are what I strive for. And when I remember that those things make me happy and help me find a focus, I can drive my ship better.
So maybe the the organ transplant theory was a bad example. It's more like, every time someone touches your life. They leave their fingerprint. And sure, fingerprints may be covered over time and smudged and unrecognizable, but you can still recognize the importance of why they were there.