mySelf

It still fascinates me how little at home I am even in my own skin, and wonder how many others feel the same. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. The quintet of words from stolen art that now hangs in my office eternally resound and reverberate through the corridors of my life. They often don’t serve as a reminder that I know who I am. You think you know who you are, or you wish you knew who you were, or who are you? are better indicators of how found I am.

You know who you are. Who are you?

I am the one lost sheep. I am the silver coin that abandoned the other nine. I am the lost son who followed his ‘heart’ to find his ‘happiness’, only to realize too late that Disney World is a large and loud place, and his father and mother were no longer where he thought them to be—beside him. Was it they that left him? I couldn’t read the guide map. I didn’t know where I was. The 'happiness' waned, soon replaced by fear.

I am surrounded by strange people in a strange place. I know who I am. I am the one with no way home. I am the one who strayed. I am the one who leaves Joy to pursue happiness. I am the one with no hope. I am the lost son, the lost coin, the lost sheep.

I am the sinner who repents to find the host of angels singing and rejoicing that the One with fiery eyes has again risked it all to find the lost sheep, has again turned the house upside down for the sake of the silver coin, has again searched a theme park for a lost little boy and rejoices at the reunion of Father and son. I know who I am. I am the one who has been found, the bastard predestined to be adopted as His son. I am the one with Hope.

With each passing day, the stolen words become less haunting. Perhaps I am becoming more acclimated to the sound of them, perhaps more comfortable with their meaning. The more I discover myself the more I find there is to discover. The more I see how I am to play out my role in this colossal mixture of land and water, the more room I see to grow. In seasons I figure out the meaning of those words in my life, but those seasons pass as quickly as they come.

How is it that identity is so elusive? Who should know me better than…me? Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt. The more comfortable I become with who I am, the more honest I am with my true self, the more I see I am not someone I would even want to hang out with. My insecurities run deep.

"Remember who you are, and whose you are." "You know who you are."

I’m sure the words comfort some. But the questioners? What of them? Introverted or extroverted? Strategic versus Diplomatic? Solving problems with people or with programs? External or internal locus of control? (do i have control of that, and in wondering does that automatically mean I have an external locus of control?) What of me? Who am I? What makes me come alive? What makes you come alive? You know who you are. Or do you? Ever?

As I find myself in the midst of this journey (one I would never have willingly signed on for) of discovery over the past several years, I find this snippet from Keirsey at least thought-provoking, if not fully-resonant. Is a comprehensive understanding of self something attainable, or in attainment is the understanding completely defeated?

[Background for the following quote…David Keirsey, in his book Please Understand Me II, describes four main categories of personalities, determined by temperament, character, and intelligent roles we play in our social context. He begins with the Myers-Briggs letter E/I, N/S, F/T, and J/P and expands from there. One of the four types is the Idealist, or those who are NF’s, so when you see those terms (capitalized) it is a reference to one of his four types, not someone who is an idealist.]

“But even more mystifying is the paradox coiled at the very center of this search, namely, that the search for Self is fundamentally incompatible with the achievement of finding the Self. For many NF’s the search for Self is a quest which becomes very much an end in itself, and which can come to dominate their lives. Thus, the Idealists’ truest Self comes to be the Self in search of itself, or, in other words, their purpose in life becomes to have a purpose in life. But how can one achieve a goal when that goal is to have a goal? Intent on becoming themselves, Idealists can never truly be themselves, since the very act of reaching for the Self immediately puts it out of reach. In their enthusiasm for self-discovery, then Idealists can become trapped in paradox: they are themselves only if they are searching for themselves, and they would cease being themselves if they ever found themselves.

Late in his life Siddhartha tries to explain this contradiction between seeking and finding to his friend Govinda, a Buddhist monk who has spent his life searching for himself. It might be, Siddhartha tells him, that

‘you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.’
‘How is that?’ asked Govinda.
‘When someone is seeking,’ said Siddhartha, ‘it happens quite easily…that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal.’

The seeking impedes the finding; the search for identity is its own obstacle. Some Idealists no doubt reach Siddhartha’s perspective and find their true Self, which means that they finally give up struggling to become some perfected idea of themselves, and simply accept themselves as they are, somewhat short of ideal. But for many NF’s, the search for identity only winds them more deeply in the complexities of inner division and self-contradiction: the more they seek their ideal Self, the more frustrated they are in their search.”

I know I am given to be over-analytical and think too much, but out of curiosity, does this passage resonate with any of you? Do you wrestle with concepts of identity and who you are? Have you ever? Is identity something you find or do you create it for yourself (and in creating it, is it your Self that determines You, making in essence the creation of identity in actuality discovery)? Do you know who you are, or does that phrase have a haunting ring to it? Did any of this make any sense?