It’s a new year. So why not start anew? My resolution is to figure out who I am once and for all, to be completely honest, with myself and mostly honest with you too. Speak my mind, do what is right for myself.
For all of the time I was growing up, living at home with my parents, sharing a room with my sister, I looked forward to when I could move out and live on my own. I made a mistake that I didn’t take more time by myself before I jumped into the relationship that eventually made me someone’s wife. I had my own apartment and I was trying to figure out who I was. I just needed to take a little more time up front and I might have gotten somewhere, but instead I have spent my entire life so far uncertain of who I really am, feeling like I am defined by what other people are or expect. I can assert myself, I just don’t know what I want to assert. Not that I was making shit loads of progress in the half a year that I actually lived alone, living in a neighborhood where I didn’t even have any friends, but it was a start. I hadn’t gotten that far, but I had a long long way to go, as Billie Holiday might have sang.
But, it’s a new year and I haven’t given up. I’m older and wiser and I don’t have to let all these people derail my plans for self awareness. The more I write the better I get to know myself, and I want to spend more time doing that. If only I wasn’t a business woman. That’s fucking time consuming. What did I want to do that for anyway? I’ve got expenses now. The family depends on me. So until I retire, can I really afford to find myself? And when can I retire? If I could start making some money writing, I could retire in 5 years. If not, then maybe eight. But oh shit, Carrie Fisher died and wasn’t she just 60? Of course she was young when Star Wars first came out, but I was younger.I wanted to be her. Actually I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. The point is, we have no guarantees. I could die too, just around the time I finally have the time to figure out what I’m alive for. I want in my old age to be able to look back at something I did with pride. The guy who played the padre in MASH just died too. He was 84. Now he wasn’t a great actor, and it wasn’t even that great a role, but he was a part of something that was great. Even though maybe it was short lived, at 84 right before he died he could think back and say, I got to be part of something that was meaningful and fun and remembered. Maybe that’s it, maybe I just want to be remembered.
I should have been an actress. That’s what I really wanted. Once I gave that up, then giving up became natural to me, because everything else I pretended to want to be was just a consolation prize. Once I decided that I had missed that window, even though I probably hadn’t, everything else was a substitute, writing, music, photography. The only other thing that might could have come close to making me feel whole was if I had learned many languages and lived in other countries, where I could pretend to be foreign. That would have been the kind of acting I might have enjoyed, even though it was real life. I like to pretend. Because I feel and have always felt so limited by convention. I should tell my husband that I want to role play. But I don’t get the sense that he wants to do that. he’s satisfied with who he is. What’s wrong with him?