My Conversation

I think we spend most of our lives trying to figure out some kind of purpose. Some are lucky to find that early on and that might be a career or family. We often define ourselves by what we do for a living. Many people really have nothing they can pinpoint about themselves other than their work. Nothing wrong with that as many provide a need for others or touch lives through what they do. Some, and I consider myself in this category, worked in the background for most people. I mean by this that I provided a service that most don’t think about. Oh sure they might wonder about how they got from point A to point B on an air travel trip and more than likely resolve that there are people ensuring safety. I was one of those. For a long time, I felt this was a huge part of who I was. Why not, I spent much of life at ten hour increments doing what I did. Over time this morphed into what it became in the end and I’m sure that most everyone has evolved in their careers. I certainly know family became the core, but not until I had kids. Before that, I was pretty self-absorbed. Did that singular thought about yourself ever go away?

From day one, we have this conversation going on our heads with ourselves. It is a running conversation that doesn’t end, not even when we sleep. We dream about things that are the most inner thoughts. When we are kids, the dreams are more singularly focused like monsters under the bed or in the closet. But as we store more and more data, we shape our thoughts around new content. As we get older, our dreams become less defined. Oh, we may have a dream that is very poignant and on point for something weighing on our minds and sometimes we find clarity from it. Then there are those adult nightmares that bring things in your lifetime somehow flooding into one night of fitful sleep. I had one the other night that had people in my life that I just really don’t like. They all came together with me locked into some strange house and I was unable to leave and each and every one of them displayed exactly what I didn’t like about them. I came out of that dream wondering why I’m thinking about people I would have been better off never knowing or knowing of. But I realize they are just part of my conversation and I probably watched something that stressed about people we wish were never in our lives. Unfortunately, they are a part of who we are whether we like or not. If not them, others would have filled the same roll and as a part of the conversation, I think they are the angel on our shoulder saying you don’t want to be like them, find another way. On the flip-side, we have many influencers that we wish we could be a little more like. Man, I’m glad this list is so much bigger than those I wish never came into my life. Then there is this narrow focus group of people that were huge in my life on the good side. I loved them dearly and along the way either the real them or me took over. I realized they were people that created mistrust or built less faith in people for me. Maybe that’s it, but mostly I feel they are people that influenced me to be more guarded about letting myself get too close. Anyway, they all stay in the conversation and shape our thoughts continually. I’m most troubled though about this small group as my conversation continues to remind me to check myself always. I wish I could say this protects me, but something in my conversation tries to convince me to believe in the humanity of others. I’m sure I’ll be taken to task again though and add another chink to my armor.

But what about getting back to the roots of ourselves? Can we ever do it or were we ever really meant to get back to the inner core of ourselves and please that part of us again before all else? After I retired, I realized that my work was just that. It consumed my conversation much of the day but in the end was something I felt good about doing but in no way really defined me. Shape, yes, define, no. I broke down and let my daughter read my book or biography of myself. I was worried about letting someone into my mind while I’m still alive, but I am starting to discover it might be what I really needed. We had a little bit of a conversation about something I wrote in the book which was fishing with my grandfather, uncle and dad. Anyway, we were having a simple conversation about fig preserves and things starting flooding into my head, Things like my grandmothers fig tree and the preserves she made from them. Which reminded me of why I think I love fig newtons so much. It simply reminds me of the night I wrote about fishing with these three most influential men in my life and that every time I eat a fig newton, I’m reminded of my grandmother and these men, things that have stayed at my inner most core of my conversation. I realized and I spoke for a second about me being associative oriented. Things, and I do mean things, carry a memory. They aren’t the memory; they are like a key to a memory. It is also why I never think we truly stop writing the story of ourselves. I think maybe my daughter has become my editor in writing my story. Simply talking to her, allows me to unlock memories of why an event was important to write about. Should I share more of the backstories? Maybe so, they would just provide more insight. I’m pretty sure this book I’m writing will never be completed. There will always be a chapter heading listed with nothing to explain why. My mystery, I guess. Will it stimulate a conversation between my kids? Maybe with their kids when they are asking about who I was. Maybe someone will pick up the reigns and begin to write about themselves and the book will change into a legacy along with the name more reflective of that legacy. Maybe each of my kids and who knows maybe a grandkid pushes the legacy forward. Could my legacy be about remembering where we came from and how it has shaped everyone over time. How cool would that be if descendants were still writing and adding to the story two hundred years from now? That would be a true legacy. My conversation has really taken a turn, lets get back to what was on my mind; me figuring out who I am and getting back to what makes me happy.

 At 62, I might be figuring myself out, by that I mean I’m trying to get back to things I love and what makes me feel me instead of what makes us, as in Jen and I. That is a separate story and different branch of the conversation. I’m talking about those things that are me. Working with my hands with the music playing in the background. That’s me. Riding a lawnmower and admiring the look after. That’s me. To go fishing and who cares if I catch anything. That’s me. Fixing something broken. That’s me. Drinking a good cup of coffee and writing. That’s me. Thinking of people from my past and remembering. That’s me. Loving someone completely. That’s me. Daily thanks for the conversation with my dad. That’s me. A person constantly trying to figure out who they are. That’s me. A full acceptance of who I am. I’m working on it. The conversation. That’s me and it continues.

Who are you?