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Swamp Thoughts

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Who am I?

This question would generally be easy to answer, but being that I’ve had a lot of time off, my mind has gotten to working at a more complicated answer. So, let me bore you with the answer.

People get caught up with the things and roles that define them: I’m an engineer, I’m overweight, I’m a girl, I’m depressed, and so forth. It is so easy to identify with these tangible objects that they seem to be who we are. Let me tell you now that who we are is something we cannot define specifically with words, it’s something that we just know, and that fact is scary.

How do we communicate the essence of who we are if there aren’t words to define it? Don’t we long to be understood? I mean, how many times have you said to yourself, “If they only knew the real me!”? And our hearts ache at the thought.

I know that I’m more than the summation of all of my roles, skills, emotions, and ideas. I can have thousands of roles depending on the people with whom I associate, I can have many different skills, my emotions change all of the time, and ideas grow, morph, or are destroyed. And all the while, I know that who I am never changes, it stays solid, and I can FEEL it humming away under this chattering mind of mine.

It would sometimes behoove us to ask ourselves the following question: “Who am I without (insert your role or ‘thing’ here)?” For example, “Who am I without my pain?” “Who am I without my weight?” “Who am I without my job?” “Who am I without my family?”

Did I hit a nerve with someone? Maybe the thought of being unemployed frightens you? Maybe the suggestion that being a mother means nothing has offended you? Let me explain something that I’ve learned: We are all capable of giving and receiving love, no matter what our role, biological or otherwise. True love, and there is only one kind, is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. We all have people in our lives that help us tap into that power. Imagine if we loved everyone as strongly and truly as mothers and fathers love their children.

Do I hear any “yeah, but…’s”? Are these “yeah, but…’s” concerned with the people who we don’t “know”? Tell me truly, how many people know the real you, the one that you ache to share?

If you fear being unemployed, know that your job is not who you are: it is a vehicle that carries you around this world. When you change cars, you don’t change who you are. You just ride in a different car. I could go on and on with analogies and metaphors (and oh, do I love doing such things!), but I’m gonna step down from my soap box, and work on my next blog, which concerns recounting the events that have led me to where I am today!

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Powder (snow) in my nose

Well, there I am on the ground, being my usual deft self. I fell so many times on my head, that the next day (yes, only the next day), I decided to buy myself a helmet. I tell you, I LOVE my helmet. It made falling a much better experience. Plus, I began to snowboard more confidently. And now I can decorate it with cool stickers.
By the second day, I was cruising (like a skipping stone) down Academy, the supposed "easy" run at Sierra Summit. I enjoyed it. I want to go back. I can't say I like snowboarding more than I do skiing, since, I can ski the black diamond runs without a need for a helmet, but, I tell you, the next time I hit the slopes, it'll be with a snowboard strapped to my feet!

Not the Pink Guy

Well, when one wakes up with goopy green stuff in her eyes, it makes her look at the world differently. But first, she's gotta pry her eyes open.

This past Sunday, I was told I had what is commonly known as Pink Eye. The doctor told me that the cause was due to a sinus infection. I don't know about any sinus infection, but I do know that I still have what I had when I left work almost a month ago: a stuffed up nose, a sore throat, and a "hack-me-up-half-a-lung" cough. Sorry to get so vividly disgusting, but I thought that opening with snotty eyes was the worst it can get.

Anyway, I do have Pink Eye, but with medication, in 5 days time, I'll be free and clear, and not contagious anymore. As far as the Pink Guy, I have that, too.

Shall I tell you the tale of the Pink Guy? Well, it all started about 6 years ago. I have this pink monster finger puppet made out of rubber. One day, I noticed that it was missing from my desk at work. Where was my faithful, yet very ugly, finger monster? Had I lost him for good?

It was about a day until I found out that an evil coworker had kidnapped my Pink Guy. Somehow, my coworker had fallen madly in love with Pink Guy, and like the villain who steals the hero's girlfriend and tries to force the girl to fall in love with him, so had my coworker snatched Pink Guy from me. So, off I went, on my mini-hero adventure, but this time, the beauty was gonna save the beast, from the beast. Yes, I'm starting to mix my fairy tales, but this is my story, and if you don't like it, well, yeah.

OK, so, long story short: I retrieved Pink Guy from my coworker, only to have it repeatedly stolen over the next couple of weeks. Finally, I decided to get a surrogate finger puppet for my coworker: Green Guy. The thefts stopped, but the whining began. He claimed Green Guy wasn't what he wanted: he wanted Pink Guy. Seeing that it was possible to never see Pink Guy again, I brought it home, where it still is happily and safely residing.

And so, to this day, my now no-longer-coworker-since-I-quit has continually inquired about the status of Pink Guy. Maybe he thought that I'd give it up when I left: Nope. I may not have a pay check, but I have Pink Guy, and our love will get us through! I hope my until-recent-coworker is reading this entry, because I want him to feel the burn of something he could not have. He he he he he, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Keep visiting, 'cause, I just might post a picture of Pink Guy when I get back from my Seattle trip.