Defining Myself

I’ve been thinking lately about who I am. I used to be able to define myself so absolutely, so matter-of-factly. When I could no longer do so, when those definitions become too constricting and too absolute, it bothered me. I hated not knowing who I was. I hated not being able to sum myself up into a category. I hated the uncertainty of being anything.

It’s only tonight that all of that has changed. Well, that’s not entirely true. What I mean to say is that it’s only tonight that I’ve suddenly realized how lovely it is to be anything and everything. I am someone entirely new each morning. I can choose to be whatever I like, mold my life, my spirit, into anything my mind can dream up. And even then, I’m still not one specific thing. I’m incapable of being labeled.

I’ve been thinking about my relationships and how different I am in each one. I am someone new with each person. Everyone in my life knows so much about me, but each one knows something different. I have some friends who I sit and listen to for hours without saying much of anything. I have other friends who can never get a word in the way I ramble on. Some friends I write to each day. Some friends have never read my writing. Some friends I am always happy around. Some friends instantly bring out the sadness in me. Some friends I have yet to say, “I love you” to, while others I embrace at each encounter with a myriad of loving remarks.

What’s so interesting about it all is that there’s no real formula to it. It’s not as though the people I consider my closest friends know me better than the ones I only casually see. I’ve cried more with strangers than I have with friends. Some of the people I share everything with have never even seen me cry. Sometimes I forget to tell the most important people in my life of my most important decisions. I’m just never the same person.

I like that. It used to annoy me so terribly. I used to hate that I couldn’t be “myself” in certain situations, that I would feel awkward and close myself off. I still do that, but I understand that it’s part of me. If I were someone who was open all the time, who was always the life of the party, always felt sociable and gregarious, I wouldn’t be the same person. I wouldn’t sit and reflect on what was said and what I wanted to say. I don’t think I would be so analytical.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t change some things. I often wish I were a little less self-aware. I watch some of the people in my life who have little to no idea how they come across to others and I find myself jealous of that kind of ignorance. Life would be easier if I didn’t care so much what other people thought. It would be easier if I weren’t so analytical. It can sometimes feel like I’m alone in my head, to steal a line from a brilliant acquaintance of mine.

Still, when it comes down to it, I wouldn’t trade the inside of my head for anything. I like being that aware. I like noticing every detail about the people that surround me, and the way those details affect who I am. It makes me who I am. It makes them who they are. After all, it’s those little things that make us so uniquely beautiful.

Tonight I received an email from a friend who I’ve exchanged “I love yous” with for years, but who made it feel like it was the first time I’d ever heard those words from anyone. “But I know now that I love you.” Are there any words more precious than those to hear? If there are, I can’t think of what they would be. What it made me realize, far beyond just how much I love him, is that I can actually define myself. I am loving and I am loved, and for me, that’s the only definition of who I am that matters. Whoever else I am, whoever else I will become, that will always be me. That will always be me.