Who Am I?

That is what I have been trying to figure out for a long time! And not for the lack of personal development. For some reason I have belonged to so many clubs that nobody wants to be in! I lived in a communist country, I was a caregiver, I am a widow, and now I am in treatment for a tick borne disease, just to name a few. Every one of those events radically changed my life. Through those circumstances I have become a completely different person. My worldview changed dramatically. As a result I see myself as a work in progress and this blog is partially a record of my life. That is why I find it hard to answer a question like "Who am I?" Somewhere I read that we identify ourselves by our roles. I think that that is partially true. However, throughout my life I have had to find my identity at a much different level.

I remember being about six years old. I was coming home from school with my mother and I saw that two houses down from where I lived workers were finishing up a construction of a new house. At that time when a new house was being built, there was a small shed erected to protect tools, equipment, and materials right next to the construction site. I knew those sheds very well. My parents also had one when they were building their home. I would go in, take a hammer and nails and try to hammer them flat observing the new shape they were taking under the blows of a five-year-old. I would do the same with bottle caps. Then I would take the caps and make a hole in them with a nail. When I had enough I would string them on a piece of rope. I would find all sort of fun things to do there. It was a treasure chest of fun.

Now this neighbor's shed was being torn down because the construction was finished. After my mother and I got home I sneaked out and ran to my neighbor's. There was nobody there. I crawled through a hole in the dilapidated fence and headed for the half demolished shed. I didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong, after all,  they were going to tear this whole thing down. I entered and started looking. During my search I found some rusty nails and a piece of rope. I put them in my pocket so that I could use them for one of my VIPs (Very Important Projects!) I just KNEW that in one of those cans and boxes there had to be a treasure somewhere. I carefully shook each one. There were so many! Finally! A sound like a treasure. The lid was shut tight and would not open. I remembered the nails in my pocket. I took one out and tried to pry the lid off. I had to try harder. And harder. Pop! The lid flew open and so did the green oil paint inside and splattered all over my brand new corduroy school pants. I tried to wipe it off with my hands but it only made things worse.

Sheepishly, I headed home. My mother was beside herself. She was yelling at me. I cannot say I blamed her. It was deep communism and clothes were very difficult to come by. When I took off my pants she looked in the pockets and took out the nails and the rope. With that she was just speechless.

Since then I have realized that that is at the core of who I am. Throughout time the distance of sheds, size, and price of those boxes have increased exponentially. There were times that I was in the wrong shed, opened the wrong box, and had the wrong clothes on. When I was forced to not explore my horizons is when I was the most unhappy. I watched my four year old niece help out her older brothers with drilling and nailing together three two-by-fours this past summer. I realized; it is genetic! I laughed and hugged her tight. Whatever I do, wherever I am, regardless what is going on, if I am going to be happy I need to be able to search for and open my boxes of treasures. The day I don't is when I lose myself.

I want you to be there as I open another box that happens to be in my shed. The label on it says Healing from Lyme Disease.