Published via Ecency

The river does not ask what it is, it just flows. As long as I can remember, I (along with many others) have carried a quiet question:

Who am I?

It was never loud, just a soft hum beneath everything. As a child, I asked in bewilderment. As a teenager, I asked it in frustration and now as an adult, I ask in silence. Still searching, still unsure.

I admired (still admire) people who wore their identities like a second skin. I read that people with a strong sense of identity are better equipped to face ‘the life.’ Maybe that’s why life has always felt like an unwinnable game to me. I keep trying on versions of myself like outfits in a fitting room, hoping one might finally fit. But some days, I just want to stop trying.

Looking back, I think I understand why I feel so lost. I just want to be like everybody else. I want to fit in, to do cool things that can impress people, listen to the same music as they do.

My questions are not “What is it I truly enjoy?” but rather, “What will they want me to say?”

This exhaustion of trying to belong is scary and boring. In doing so, you become an actor who has learned every script of the others, but forgotten her own voice. You get good at the performance, but this performance never ends. The question is why would you do this? Is it love we crave for or maybe, we want to be seen, adored, preffered? I say, it is a deep human instinct. But somewhere along the way, we begin carving off pieces of who we are. We give up our own fragments, hoping that one day, we will hear the golden words, “This is enough. You have proven yourself.” But, by that time, it doesn’t feel right.

The paradox of choices

Identity is just the sum of choices we make. We live in a world with infinite possibilities and pathways. Sounds quite fun, isn’t it? This way, we can be anything. But, by choosing one thing we grieve the thousands we didn’t. I have always wondered, what if some alternative version of me is living a better life.

Choice

Choice, in theory, is freedom. But in practice, it can feel like a quiet paralysis. But maybe the point isn’t to choose the best life. Maybe the magic lies in choosing a life and making it the best. It may begin with fear, but it can become the best possible choice, because it is yours and yours only.

Honestly, I will be lying if I say that I have all the answers on me right now. There are days of ambiguity with the echo of “figure it out.” And, there are days with preferable answers.

I somethimes think that there is liberation in this uncertainty. This uncertainty means that we have a brand new choice without any obligation. An opportunity to re-write. This time rather than becoming what others want, **you get to decide the adjective for thyself. **

Be a river: shift, expand, crave new paths with persistence. The harder the search for who you are, the more smokey it gets. The self is not a destination, it is a lifelong draft. And maybe that's the most beautiful part.