I’m stuck trying to figure out who I am. It’s easier said than done; realistically you figure out your identity when you are younger and have a chance to experiment in life. But sometimes incidents happen that make you take a hard look at your reflection and wonder who that person is looking back at you.
I didn’t like who I had become. I didn’t know that at the time either.
It’s almost been a year since I left TV, and it’s been a roller coaster of adventure trying to determine just who I really am without that identifier. I’ve learned little things, like I love flowers and I want to be outside as much as possible. I’ve learned big things, like I enjoy quiet time as much as I do music, and I love not knowing everything that is happening day to day. But I still don’t know who I am.
I know that I still have that sarcastic sense of humor and beautiful eyes. I know that I love loud music and jamming out. I know that I miss working out regularly and fitting into my size 12 jeans, but I also love taffy and Peterbrooke’s milk chocolate covered popcorn. I like to color, to read, to take pictures of things, and to run. I still don’t like bugs or spiders, onions, screaming children and being spoken to as if I was moron. (Which, in case you didn’t know, I’m not)
But that isn’t who I am, right? It’s a philosophical journey to determine just who a person is anymore, and I think I am still slowly taking steps in that direction. I think back to the girl I was and I didn’t like that I was miserable, that I didn’t laugh as easily or as often, that I didn’t joke around as much, that I didn’t find joy in things that I used to love.
I want to find happiness and joy, I want to laugh and play, I want to feel confident enough to grab life by the horns and say “You are mine to control” and then let it wander free just to see where it takes me. Just because I can.