Finding Yourself: Some Assembly Required

When I set out on this rumspringa journey to "find myself", I now realize that I had some very different expectations for what that would mean. Did I expect to "find myself" whole, ready and waiting to be reclaimed like a lost puppy? I am embarassed to admit that the answer is yes. I guess I just thought I would be wandering down the street one day, spot the real ME, and launch a joyous reunion. The actual experience is more like stumbling upon an old, abandoned Harley Davidson hard-tail, stripped down for parts, laying forgotten, rusting, and in a thousand pieces behind an old barn.

The realization that I am finding myself, little by little, in bits and pieces, is somewhat discouraging. I like things neat, tidy, and completed on schedule. This development means there will be some assembly required. (How I loathe that phrase, some assembly required! There is always a wing nut or essential plastic sleeve that turns up missing when you are almost done.)

If there is a saving grace in all this, it came in the form of a lovely gift from my friend Val who set me up to meet her friend Bob Waters here in San Miguel. Bob is a pony-tailed retired professor of English and Journalism who wears soft pink cashmere sweaters, goes by the screen name BabaWaWa, gathers armfuls of poppies for dinner parties, and tells great stories from his life as 60s protester, Key West beach bum, and wise sage to young and old. I knew we were destined to be fast friends when almost the first thing he said after introducing himself was, "Have you read Proust?"

At dinner last night, Bob asked a key question essential to finding the rest of the missing me parts. He looked at me dead square in the eye and asked, "Where's your bliss?" It was such a simple and innocent question but one I had not asked myself in awhile. The answers were right at the tip of my tongue and I immediately realized that, of the 3 things I love most, 2 of them I never take time for and the other is just an occasional pasttime. Later in bed that night, I asked myself where my bliss is not and was surprised to learn that the 3 things I spend the most time on are on the Not-Bliss list. Thank you Bob for that epiphany!

So it is a relief to know that I will not have to resort to putting my picture on milk cartons to find myself here. Besides, even if I wanted to I wouldn't have known whose picture to post on the carton. It surely would not be any of those taken in the last 30 years. I have a vague sense of the missing me in the fuzzy memory of a 12-year-old who borrowed a neighbor farmer's draft horse for an early spring ride, got caught in freezing rain that turned to snow, and steadily made her way back with the horse even though both of us were dripping wet, slipping on the ice, and freezing. I do not remember ever feeling more courageous, alive, or blissfully happy. But sadly, there are no pictures that captured that moment.

To those of you who have already found yourselves and are living in peaceful harmony, you have my respect and admiration. Please share what you know with the rest of us and help us on the journey like good old Bob Waters has done for me.