The identity of self is an age long question up for debate in social science, the philisophical world and with PHDs of psychology.  The life long search for the identity of self is an individual journey breached at birth.  Some are better at it than others.  Some journeys seem wrought with the answers while others are always hollowed with questions.  Some never asking questions, afraid of the journey and some . . .  some never stop asking even when they have the answers.  Some are just never content to be who they are.

The bottom line:  Being us, and trying to figure out who we are as an individual and where that fits in this world is not easy.  It can be an ugly road leading to sad tragic results such as the newly departed Miss Amy Winehouse, just the last of a long stream of such great potential seeped into the remnants of fateful echos of  heartbreaking, lamentable, destructive icons.

The search for self doesnt end in front page tragedy for most.  But I think there is something to be said that in this day in age there is a giant chasm separating the common folk from finding contentment in their true self.  I couldn’t say it, and neither could thousands of the above stated academics if there was not truth in it.  Our culture has experienced so much rapid growth, as its own entity it is experiencing crisis of self.  Growing so quickly and learning too quickly, forgetting more about ourselves as a race from generation to generation than we can learn about ourselves scientifically.    In our cultures race to grow and be better and know more and go beyond we have shaken the foundation, nearly stepped off the foundations that the human race has cultivated as a main sense of self for thousands of years.

Yes, many of these changes are good.  Many old way are archaic.  I am not preaching to go back to the dark ages and shroud ourselves in ignorance.  But, it is mans history to run so fast to what is ahead to what he thinks is better, and run from the past and condemn what he think is lesser, that he desecrates and destroys ALL things that were, and does not keep what was good.  He learns nothing from what may have been something very worthy or important to keep around, and we learn nothing from this repeated mistake.

I mention the dark ages and cannot help but think of the Roman Catholic war on the Witch.  For three centuries, people, mostly women, we hunted needlessly, and accused falsely and executed hundreds of thousands of people out of fear, propaganda, and the basic ignorance and misunderstanding of what came before.  It was at this time a death sentence to be caught healing with natural medicine.  A Pagan practice, a female pagan practice.  To heal this way, you must be a witch . . .   the Roman Catholic church would have nothing to do with it.  but what if they had been open minded?  to learn of these practices?  How many people in how many villages could have not been so sick, even saved, because the knowledge of one root or one plant had been past down generations?

This is an extreme example.  But in our world of twisted priorities, what have we lost?  the family connection that was there 50 years ag0 is gone.  I dont see 1st cousins, let alone second or third.   I dont even had relationships with people on my mother’s side of the family.  And that would break her parent’s heart.  When did that happen to this society?  when did our lives get so small.  When did it become all about us?

And we have to admit, we are pretty self focused.  The plastic surgery . . .  the Persian women wearing bandages to pretend they had plastic surgery. Suicide rates, substance abuse, divorce rates, 500 channel cable and  reality tv . . . we are not content with who we are.  We have built a world primed for escape, and filled it with choices to keep us occupied.

As our world shrinks, maybe it does get harder to find ourselves.  There is a conundrum there somewhere.  You cannot look to the outside to find what is on the inside . . .   But if our outside is broken  . . . if pieces are missing . . .

I dont know.  I do not have the answers.  I only have questions.  But they are such excellent questions.  I have big questions on the societal page, and then I have question for myself.  I am on my own journey.

My journey for self identity feels a little different from most.  I did this once.  I knew who I was.  Liked who I was and where I was going.  was confident, felt I was coming into my own.  Grounded.  Knew where I had been, what I had learned from it all, where I was and where I thought I was going.  And then, things can be taken away from you so quickly.  Even the little big things like all the pieces that add up to what makes you you.

I have no idea who this person is.  I do not have the old tools I once had to figure that all out.  I do not know where I fit in the professional world.  I do not fit in the social world . . .

The lovely gifts of the my TBI do not make up a new identity.  I am not my condition.  And the loss over so much of who I was is so profound, I have yet to reset and begin the challenge of finding the new Amanda.  Who am I without the ambition and professional drive?  without the skill set that made me a competent member of a workforce team.  Who am I if not a leader?  Who am I if not organized, quick, a multitasker.  Who am I if I cannot size people up in three seconds, or sort a situation in five.  Who am if I cannot seek my old desires and dreams?  How do I fit in my family dynamics if there is not a place for the “new me”?  How do I fit in social dynamics if I can’t socialize?  Faced with the loss of so much self, so many friends, professional identity, confidence, physical capability and stuck with the constant comparison to the old me, where does the new journey really begin?

I feel like I am walking around not knowing what all is missing, on stilts like swiss cheese, being hollowed out by termites, undermined by blind unforeseen damage branching every which way, trying to hold my head high, but in reality staring frantically at the ground watching out for the next gaping hole I am going to stumble into . . .

I know it is time to get off the stilts and leave them behind.  They are a shadow of a former life that I will soon one day reflect upon as having belonged to someone else, it being so foreign in concept, the idea of health and happiness and success.  But perhaps, unlike our societal fathers I choose to believe that there are some remnants of that old life that are worth saving.  I just need to figure out what they are.  I can’t ban the dirty nasty swiss cheese hollowed out stilts just because there might be something “all new” and better for me out there and these are “no good for me”.    With in those cavernous walls there lies elements of me that still exist.  If I discard those stilts I might be discarding something of great value to me, something I can get back one day . . .   Even if I cannot see it or recongnize it for what it is right now.

So I think I will take my journey on wounded stilts.  After all, I am wounded, too.  And if I have stilts and I do fall into that next hole, I will be taller to climb out of it.  😉  And, just knowing the imagery of me walking around on stilts no matter how damaged means my arrogance is solidly entranced in those stilts and left unmarred.  And that’s ok . . .