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.
