Just Be Yourself

Growing up I would often receive advice from various sources, mostly adults who had crossed their own bridges and trodden their own paths. They thought that because I was younger and less experienced, they were authorized to tell me how to live my life. Granted, I knew they were, for the most part, wiser and more knowledgeable about the ways of the world, but I was still a stubborn teenager.

As I matured, and accepted (or blatantly ignored) the advice given, I frequently found myself in situations and circumstances—some academic, others social—outside my comfort zone, and I found myself insecure and nervous. And looking back, I believe the most frequent advice I was given in these situations was probably, “Be yourself.” Everything works out fine if you just act like yourself, right? We’ve all heard it. Sometimes it works out well, but what if you have a problem like I did? I didn’t know who I was; my “self” was impossible to define.

Despite arguments regarding the different psychological identities/selves that human beings portray in different situations(especially teenagers), despite the masks that I still hide behind or wear to rise to an occasion, I can’t just be myself. Why? Because, as AWOL Nation sings, “All of ‘these things’ make me who I am.” I am a little bit of each and every individual I have come to know. Every single soul that has weaved itself into and out of my life has had some type of impact, given me something to hold onto. Even ex-girlfriends and ugly break-ups, bullies, bad bosses, and Class A jerks are a part of me, no matter how hard I repress the memories. Then again, friends, colleagues, teachers, family—their influences fashion a greater, more positive portion of my existence.

Where I come from also determines part of my identity. As a military brat, I often felt I was a mutt, growing up all over the world, without a place to truly call home. “Where are you from?” was the worst question in the world to ask me because it didn’t have a definitively simple answer. However, in retrospect, the multicultural influences I accumulated—tattered scraps of custom and habit and knowledge—comprise the quilted patchwork of who I am, regardless of how poorly the knots are tied together. My eating mannerisms supply one example: when I use a bowl, I hold it up to my mouth like the Japanese instead of risking backsplash; I use a fork and knife like a European; and when I eat and drive, I do it like the most competent multi-tasking American teenager. When I cook for others, my Southern redneck prepares to feed a battalion even if it’s just my brother coming over. It’s all part of who I am.

To be myself is to be everything that I am, a composite of everyone and everything that comprises my being. So I think that to truly be myself means to simply be true. To merge my experiences, my travels, my relationships, my accumulated wisdom (however little that may be) and just be. Yes, I guess you could call this synthesis of my experiences my “self,” but it is nothing without everything else. True self is found in perception and action based upon that perception. We can all try to emulate others that we may perceive, but only when we have confidence in our own lives and souls that we can be who we choose and not merely a cheap knock-off of another human being made in Taiwan (no offense to the Taiwanese).

Being myself means being the best of everything, or at least the selected parts of everything else.