"Other"

I'm following a friend on Twitter who just referred to himself in one of his tweets as an "instigator." It made me laugh, because I know it to have been proven true on many occasions. I wonder, though, if that's what how he really defines himself. I mean, using a noun to describe yourself is tantamount to pronouncing a finite sentence on your own personality; as it implies that whatever you are saying about yourself is as much who you are as your gender or your race. Yet, whether we do it out loud, in writing or in theory, we all tend to define ourselves-and one other-in very specific, narrow, and unforgiving terms. Just seems easier that way. After all, categorizing others saves us the trouble of spending the time necessary to get to know their ins and outs. And which of us wants to be left at the mercy of what someone else thinks we are, right? Wouldn't it allow us more control to just TELL people who we are, and that way no one gets disappointed?

My mother does a terrible job of hiding the sadness in her voice when she recounts the following incident: When I was seven years old, I woke up one morning and announced that I was going to be PERFECT. I was not going to make a single mistake that entire day. If I explain why I undertook such an endeavor, I will lose my audience AND my composure-but suffice it to say, my ambition was writing checks that my organism could not pay. By the time I'd made it to the bathroom to get ready for school, I'd already dropped a few things on the floor and was inconsolably devastated. Mom's been losing sleep over my mental stability ever since. Poor thing. But I refuse to believe I was (or am) the only one unsatisfied with who they are. No one is completely comfortable with imperfection, I don't care WHAT they tell you. Granted, most of us eventually come to accept that we won't be the best at everything but it's safe to say that we would all like to be known for excelling or being consistently good at at something. It could be a skill, a talent, or the demonstration of some virtue or quality. It creates a fixed sense of identity, which in turn provides a comforting illusion of security.

My weight could continue to balloon to the size of Montana, but as long as I was the "smart one," I was still good for something. So I threw myself into academics. It took me years to accept that occasionally a 'B' might find itself mixed in with my string of A's and that sometimes, someone WOULD have a higher GPA than I did. I also came to realize that I wasn't entirely comfortable with the implications of being the "smart one." The "smart one" was responsible for knowing everything about any random subject at any given time. While I did have a stellar memory and impressive reading comprehension, if the book I'd read that day was about Shakespeare and not about quantum physics, I'd be able to tell you everything about the former and absolutely nothing about the latter. In plain English-some days I just was not going to sound that smart. Also, a nerd is ALWAYS supposed to be a nerd, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. She can't dance, or listen to hip-hop, or enjoy completing silly quizzes in teenage magazines, or laugh at anything without it containing an intellectual double-meaning. So, upon seeing that I couldn't fill the role of being a nerd to perfection, I reluctantly retired. That was alright-because if I wasn't the smart one, I could be the mature mother hen. I put on the work-hat of the wise old lady who always gave sage advice...except she was three months younger than you and was in your fourth period computer class. I listened to EVERYONE'S problems, from grade crises to family problems, breakups and diets, and I ALWAYS had an answer. Literally, people would submit their problems to me in first period gym, and by the end of the school day I'd have a completed written commentary addressing and resolving their issues. It felt good to be counted on to know something, to have something meaningful to say, and to be looked up to. But that, too, ran it's course. The days when my brain and hormones suddenly remembered that I was only 16 years old, and I felt like having a bad day, created a general sense of discomfort for all my peers. I was supposed to have all the answers, so what was anyone to say to comfort me?

There were glitches with every subsequent superhero identity I tried to take on from then on out: Party-Girl-April, Junior Executive-April, Day-To-Night-Barbie-April(complete with outfits that easily transitioned from early morning field-service-wear to practical work clothing to sparkly club attire. Yep. You read that right.). I had my Mary J. Blige phase when I decided I was never taking any mess from anybody (that one I actually miss). There was Big Pimpin' April, classically surrounded by upwards of 10 dudes at a time, which was fun until I realized that none of them actually remembered that I was a GIRL. My conscience didn't put up with my Touret's phase for very long(wantonly saying whatever was in my head simply for shock value, that is. I think I must have still been trying to get my meds right back then.). I had my Jill Scott/Erykah Badu "Deep-Girl" phase with my headwraps and candles; turning every congregation talent show into a finger-snapping poetry slam. I think even when I spoke in service it sounded as if I were rapping. That directly preceded the Faux Black Latina Phase (Salsa dancing every weekend and speaking with an accent although I didn't even really speak Spanish yet). Then I got sick and I wanted to be known as The Inspiration. Every conversation became an unsolicited motivational speech. Even when I started thinking like an adult and focusing on the important things, I wanted to be known as the Responsible Pioneer-on alert like some kind of theocratic paramedic. Always there, whether it was practical or realistic or possible for me to do so or not. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be someone I wasn't-I just wanted to be extraordinary somehow, and each of these "personas" reflected a dear part of myself that I wanted to make bigger and better and shinier, someone I could count on people loving and therefore, someone I could love.

A few of the major problems on this identity quest were as follows: No one can be just one predictable way all the time, no matter who you are "supposed" to be. Humans are fluid products of their emotions, upbringing and environment, and it takes a lot of discipline that most of us don't have to react robotically to a situation, especially for reasons other than moral obligation or spiritual devotion. In other words, if you are trying to work against the natural grain of your personality for any reason other than to please God-who actually gives the strength to be better than what our nature dictates that we are-we won't last long at all. Number two: Forcing yourself into a box or a type so that you always belong somewhere and so that no one can reject you is a way of enslaving yourself to fear and to other people's expectations. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to conclude that THAT isn't healthy. Thirdly, there are many, many facets to all our personalities, and depending on our surroundings, the conditions, and the company we keep, those facets either shine or become dull depending on how we try to fashion ourselves. Either way, they are always there. I was ALL the people I was trying to be, in some split-second in time, in some corner of my psyche. I believe we all have a teeny bit of multiple personality disorder, and we are all just trying to get everyone in there to get along long enough not to mess things up too badly. But the BIGGEST and most dangerous problem in a search for self, like mine, is how easy it is to underestimate and put aside the one thing that can make the abstract parts of an imperfect human harmonize into something beautiful-Godly fear. I've loved Jehovah my whole life, but there have been moments when, simply put, I've found myself so panicked and lost and desperate to see clearly who I am that I forget: That IS who I am! Having a life that revolves around keeping that love strong and pleasing Jehovah is what makes the good parts of us better and the not-so-good parts sit down and shut up (at least most of the time). We have to give ourselves and one another the opportunity to see that phenomenon in action. Serving Jehovah is the glue. I try to go any other way and I fall apart, and I'm in a million pieces all over North America, wearing who-knows-what.

So to my friend, the "Instigator"; to my loudmouths, and crybabies; prudes, and intellectuals; clowns and ditzes; mama's boys and complicated women: these are things we DO and FEEL-they aren't who we are. May we let serving Jehovah-and loving and forgiving one another-define WHO WE ARE. There's no form to fill out and submit declaring that we've finally figured ourselves out. And if there were, there really would be no need to pick a category, we could just check "other". Or, even better: rip the form up, and just LIVE.