Last week I talked about the simple notion that you need to know yourself before you will know your path.
I find most of us in this culture define ourselves by what we do for a living, so after leaving what I did for a living I find myself wondering — well then, who am I? Or, who was I? I remembered a small box I taped shut real tight after university and put in storage.
Last night I crawled deep into the crawlspace and pulled it out.
Inside, under the cat, there are some clues about my past. I flipped through them like an alien keen on observing myself: JK report cards that describe me singing my heart out in the singing circle, awkward class photos from grade school with messy hair and lasers in the backdrop, and a journal from 1996 in which my personality resembles a real life Lisa Simpson. (Complete with plans to set up a recycling program at the corner bakery and save the dolphins.)
This journal from 1996 disappeared in a robbery when my family and I moved to the city in 2001, and all my journals from elementary and high school went with it. Except this one came back.
Someone found it a year later and mailed it to my old address in suburbia. How they found my address I’ll never know. I’ve kept this journal packed away for the past 10 years, afraid of what silly, angsty writing I’d find inside. I was afraid of who I was.
The other night I cracked the journal open for the first time since I wrote it, and I’ve been reading it out loud to Danny in the evenings. Turns out I wasn’t the big loser I thought I was. I was oddly funny, and head-shakingly intuitive and advanced for a child. There are humorous accounts of daily life on the playground, and deep musings about true friendship and family. I describe the bullying in grade 8 as “emotional abuse”, and how on bad days I feel depressed and “vacant”. How would a 13 year old know the word vacant?
13 year old me was an outsider but had a 4-person crew of picked-on misfits. I played bass guitar, got straight A’s, obsessed over Jim Carrey, loved the Smashing Pumpkins, watched science shows, had a knack for art, loved animals and nature, and wrote every day.
I struggled with my self-confidence, teetering in 1996 between wanting to fit in but wanting to be myself, and like most kids I got picked on.
(EXHIBIT A: A few gems in my home-made yearbook that year. Note his detailed depiction of my Italian heritage upper lip hair that puberty had bestowed on me and the electric shaver pictured beside it.)
Kids, huh?
Anyway, I’m happy to learn the 13 year old me is actually a critical little thinker who had no problem calling people out on their crap, at least in her journal. I find her fascinating at this period — she writes angrily into her diary when she and her friends get picked on, has meaningful relationships with her pals, babysits her 6 year old sister, runs track, does her own laundry, makes dinner sometimes, and in just a few more pages she’ll graduate elementary school.
She’s cooler than she thought she was.
I poke around the dusty box a little more. From high school there’s only some bad poetry, then some good poetry, a day planner with hearts around my first boyfriend’s name, some photos of me as a hippy, a few letters from old classmates folded into cool origami, notes from my best friend, soccer team photos, and the rest is gone.
That time was all about following my own path with my best pal and not caring what anyone else thought. It was all love, flowers, soccer, music, horse riding, the Monkees, the Beatles, art, drama, sticking it to the suburban man, turning heads on the bus ride to the mall.
And happily not giving a flipping fuck.
Fast forward to a week before university submissions were due. On a visit to the city I drove by a film set in front of Union Station and a lightbulb went off. — Yes! — Off I went to learn how to make radio and TV.
The university years were jam packed with change.
From then, I have a few tokens in the box. There’s this cool scrapbook with fun notes and drawings I made:
And then there’s a stack of lined notebooks that describe the most transitional years of my adult life including epic breakups, leaving my friends, moving to a new city, getting robbed of everything, September 11th, adjusting to university, battling anxiety, getting over an eating disorder, struggling through work and school, trying to make new friends, keeping straight A’s, watching my family fall apart, internalizing my parent’s divorce, struggling with living at home, and everything else that went on before I graduated and left for Europe without much of a plan to start my adult life.
It’s brilliant. And I forgot how little credit I gave myself.
I’m so much different at 29 and growing fast every year. I’m wiser, stronger, happier. There’s balance. Yet there’s something great about looking back, even to the hard times, to see who I was and what I was thinking, and show myself some love.
Maybe other people would toss this stuff out.
But I like that I can see where my path was before my career, where my attitudes came from, why friendships failed or worked, and why I had a hard time hearing my inner voice.
Knowing how I got in my own way will help me get out of it.
As for the rest of the box:
It’s super fun looking way back.
You know, to those formative years, where, sure, you thought the California Raisins really did sing Heard It Through The Grapevine, whatever, but your inborn talents and interests were pure, weren’t they?
What did you do when you ate crackers and drank juice and ran around doing whatever on earth you felt like?
When’s the last time you felt that authentic?
Do you believe the feeling disappears with responsibilities and a job? With kids and family?
I’ve seen all kinds of different attitudes. Lately, with this blog, I’ve had a tremendous opportunity to meet many happy examples of people whose happiness comes from inside and being aligned to what they do. Being led by their hearts and values makes even the big obstacles just part of being amazing.
They know who they are.
So who are you?
It’s never too late to really ask.
You’re a wonderful artist!
Thanks! When it comes to drawing people, I got (and still get) a real kick out it. Glad you liked the post
California Raisins didn’t really did sing that song?!!
I know, WTF eh? It’s like that thing about Santa.
braces elastics! Insane!
Those drawings are amazing – post more of them.
Thanks Terence!! And thanks for the encouragement — there are lots of those drawings.
Hey there! I just read your blog “Who the F am I?” and I’d like to share it’s just what I needed. I can totally relate. Since moving from a small town in Newfoundland to “the big city”, Brampton, Ontario in sixth grade, I feel that such a change and adjustment has shaped me into the being I am today. I’ve been doing some self reflection as of late; at 27 years old, having been married (to my best friend and most favorite person in the world) for the past six years and raising our 18 month old daughter, has definitely left me thinking about who I want to become when I’m an adult- and furthermore, makes me realize that the same 13 year old, awkward, off-beat, yet kind hearted girl that I thought I had left behind, assuming she had evolved into a career -driven -degree -seeker in university, onto a professional, a wife and a mother, was in fact never abandoned at all. She is me, and as you’ve mentioned, having the ability to look back and see your path is nothing short of incredible. I am amazed at what the universe has thrown my way, and always excited and pleased to see how the lives of those whom I consider to have been a great impact on who I was, still am and have yet to become, and it’s those memories that I will hold in my heart forever. I read your blog from time to time, and I totally appreciate your very wise words, bold opinions and your ability to exhibit that there are very genuine and creative individuals out there still willing to share their true selves. That, I find quite inspiring. Danny was one of my dearest friends, especially during one of the most difficult and challenging times of my life, high school. I discovered F the Desk through his random posts, and I’m sure I’ll continue to enjoy! Thanks for listening, and thanks for sharing!
Charmaine, you made my day! Thank you so much for sharing this; it put such a smile on my face. You’re right — that 13 year old from your past, she’s you. I absolutely love how you put it. That awkward/off-beat/kind-hearted girl you described, her friends, her talents, maybe even her fears, all shape you beautifully into who you are now. In my case, it’s therapeutic to take a look at who I was and show her the love I didn’t give myself then.
It’s also amazing, like you said, to hold in your heart those who made a big impact on your life story. They’re like movie characters without which the film would fall flat, and your role is just as inextricable in theirs.
And don’t even get me started on the universe OMG!!1!
Thank you for your kind words. I’m so happy you enjoy my posts.
Where to start…..
When I was in hair school the head honcho teacher said of me “You’re never afraid to colour outside the lines”… I think it was meant as a back-handed compliment as I’m pretty sure she hated me… but I didn’t take it that way. I think that line defines me, my choices, my life… Hell, it’s on my business card!
Being a desk f@%ker myself it’s hard to imagine life any other way. To imagine living “inside the box.” Did I ever? I doubt it. 10 year old me dressed in hot pink striped pants, polka dot shirts and loonie tunes high tops. I had bad perms. 16 year old me hung out with anyone and everyone, refusing to be “catagorized” by highschool labels.
Where am I now? 29 year old me rents instead of owning… got married at 22… had my baby at 25 (not 36!?)… is not having more kids (What!? you NEED to give him a sibling!!!)… is non-denominational… picked up the guitar 6 months ago and joined a band… Everything I do seems ass-backwards, but F@%K it! I’m happy.
Shit has happened, too much shit…. Life is too damn short to be someone you’re not… To colour inside the lines. To sit behind a desk humping some shit job for 40 hours a week that you hate.
So kudos to you, Sarah, for f@%king the desk. For chasing your dreams. For being the kind of woman that can embrace that girl you were and still are.
Cheers babe!
When I met you, you struck me right away as someone who colours wherever she pleases, and I love that about you. You’re bold, and lively, and sassy, and funny, and confident — all you, and unique. And I’m super proud of you for picking up that guitar (why the hell not, right?) and doing shows. That’s fabulous.
You’re right. Life’s too damn short not to do what you want and be happy! Ass-backwards or frontwards, it doesn’t matter how you did it, and you knew all along that you had to follow your heart. Thank you for your support, kind words, and this kick ass comment, Kris.
How awesome that you kept all that stuff!
Yes! I was quite the little documentarian growing up, thinking one day I’d like to look back and remember. So that’s good. My memory’s pretty shite
Documentarian? That must have rubbed off on you from your old man. The use of creative language, I mean. My friend and co-talent-development-partner-guy is Virgil Scott, a fairly well-known Canadian singer (from a hundred or so years ago.) He is quite impressed with your pics and drawings. He has a daughter your age who is currently working in media in Europe. We have agreed it is OK that we are old softie sucks about our girls.
I am so glad you had some of your memento stuff returned, after all the upset that got them lost.
ps, your kitties are amazing.
xoxo
Dad
Thanks, dad! Glad you got to see some of it and meet the cats xox
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Pretty inspiring Sarah; old photos are like breadcrumbs along the trail. That being said however, I have some 80′s pics that will go with me to the grave.
Glad you enjoyed it,
Chris! Even the little bit I know about your story is HUGELY inspiring. Thanks for sharing with me. (80s photos on Facebook soon?)
Maybe not Facebook; I’m willing to share embarrassing photos, but you’ll need to bring donuts.
Deal, Chris. You know what I just realized? I’m sorry — I saw your message come in and thought you were Chris Tripodi but you’re not! Regardless, I’m sure your story is inspiring too
Donuts = love.