When I was a kid I spent a lot of time playing by myself, or with my dog, Trixie. Growing up on the shores of Tamarack Lake was magical. I had endless woods to explore, fields to romp in and a huge lapping lake to fish out of, boat in and stare at. It was a small neighborhood, and while there were other kids to play with some of the time, I spent a lot of time by myself.
My happiest memories from my childhood involve me, my dog and watching the little boats I'd build bob on the water. I could stare for hours at the water, seeing how the light reflected off the tiny waves and tracking where the currents took my boats.
Sometimes I'd build forts, or make a neighborhood newspaper or set up a car wash - but for the most part I stuck to exploring nature by myself. I was happy.
Those early years I had an indomitable character. I knew exactly what I wanted. Then, I would go out and get it. I also knew exactly what I didn't want, or didn't want to do. And if anybody pressed me? Big resistance. I knew the exact line between right and wrong and though I made mistakes, I always tried to do the right thing. I remember the exact moment when I decided that I wanted to be an optimist. It was a conscious decision. One that I had stewed over for quite some time as I walked the woods around my house. Pessimism had it's advantages, ya know. All the sarcasm, pooh-poohing other people's ideas, never being disappointed because you were rooting for disappointment all along, being able to generally bitch and moan...
But, I chose optimism, because I saw it as the only real way to live. I really thought hard on that one though.
Those early years formed me into a very self assured optimist who knew exactly who and what she wanted to be. To put it simply? I had moxie.
Then, I went to school, then college, then to work. And suddenly? I was surrounded by people. All the time. When you are surrounded by people, you become defined by them.
Specifically, you become defined by their perceptions of you. You become familiar with what certain people associate you with, and you pretty much build on that every single time you meet or talk.
At work I was seen as determined, sometimes stubborn, aggressive, outspoken, yet extremely fair. Socially I was a butterfly, silly, outgoing and always up for anything that came my way.
When I left New York I would've defined myself as loyal, curious, adventurous and extremely outgoing.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the beach...
I got here and realized I had moved somewhere by myself. All by myself. Gulp.
There are no resumes for who you are as a person. There is no way to bring along to a new place what a good friend or roommate you were in the past.
Each person you meet, meets you completely anew. It was extremely humbling to me when I would be working in the taco stand and someone would treat me as if, well, I was a girl who worked in a taco stand. What else would they have treated me as? That was who I was now.
Or when I was living in the camper, and people would treat me as some weirdo living in a camper. They didn't know anything about my past, or that this was a totally weird situation to me as well. They took me in complete context of how they met me.
It's a small town here, and I think that with all my transitions and adventures no one really knows what the hell to make of me. Just who IS this girl?
Meanwhile this forced me to spend an inordinate amount of time by myself. Something I had not done since those very early days as a child. I have also had the magic of being near nature and having a dog. Those three things combined: singularity, nature, dog. Those three things have done something amazing.
I have redefined myself, or rather, I have re-found myself. What I thought had changed in me and my personality was just the smoke and mirrors of the perceptions of other people. I hadn't really changed at all, I had just adapted. But now I have reversed the evolution and gone back to plain and simple old ME.
It's a hard thing to be defined by your own perceptions. You really want people to like you. It's human nature to want to be accepted. But the gift in being happy completely when you are on your own is that you always have a place to go back to where you know you'll be happy.
Interactions are a bit different now. I am more assured and I'm not really that worried about disappointing someone or having them not like me, or get me, or want to talk to me again. To each his own. I have really great conversations with the horizon and some of my happiest moments with Dungee or surfing by myself. It's refreshing hanging out with me. We GET each other.
If there is any advice I can give to anyone who feels a bit discombobulated or confused or overwhelmed or misguided? Take some time. Take more time that that, actually. Take as much time as humanly possible and spend it by yourself.
Discover what you think, what you feel, what you love and how you want to spend your day and what makes you happy. You can only really discover yourself after you spend long and repeated sections of time all by your lonesome.
And sometimes it does get lonesome, and when this happens I reach out and try and meet new people. I guess if hunger is the best spice, then loneliness is an aphrodisiac. And I have met a few people that I truly treasure here. I can count them on half of one hand. And while it's hard not to be able to throw a party when the Steelers are on or have a ton of social engagements to keep you busy, it's been a blessing. I found my old best friend, Me, out here in California.
We get along like 1 pea in 1 pod.
And each day we discover something we forgot about ourself, and we have fun doing it.
Like tonight -I'm going to sit back and watch the Steelers beat the Broncos and think about the good ol' days, floating boats with my dog on Tamarack.
