In everything around me, I see a reflection of Odelia – who I am in relation to it or them, what I could learn or do in a given situation, why I should care about x, y, and z. It sounds egotistical in a way – I perceive everything through myself and (as much as is possible) only through myself.
Try as I might to not be so “self-focused” and overly “self-aware” (as well-meaning people would admonish me at times), the constant consciousness of my self is there, unyielding and proud.
And every now and then, that consciousness trips me up. At crucial moments, I step back from an idea, desire, or decision for a moment and wonder if I am too selfish for doing the thing or even for just wanting to do the thing.
“Who am I to think I have anything worth sharing? Why are the things I do and say and write always about what I like, what I think, what I can offer to people, what I am capable of, what I am learning, how I have failed or succeeded?”
Then, time and time again, the reality of being me hits me.
I can be no one else.
I do the things I do. I love the things I love. I destroy the things I destroy.
Every word and action – even expressions of love, creativity, and yes, even perceived selflessness – stems from the I that must exist before anything is to be said or done. And while this “I” cannot be laid as a sacrifice to the world and those around me (for to hand over my agency – even if that autonomy is but an illusion in the grandest sense – is to render that sacrificed “I” a non-being, nothing but a wasted pointlessness), perhaps the greatest thing I could offer, even to God, is to excel in being who I am.
I recognize that life – existence itself – is a gift. I did not create myself into this world, nor do I determine what happens to the self I consider as “me” when I leave this world. All I have to work with is my perception – my consciousness of what is, what has been, what could be – and, while sometimes informed and impacted by the perspectives of those around me, the entirety of my experience of this reality starts and ends with that same consciousness.
Which means – if you are still tracking with my logic – that I cannot offer anything outside of that consciousness-of-self, that recognition of how the phrases “from my perspective…” or “I think…” belong in each thoughtful sentence we utter and each belief we hold, no matter how we hold onto them as “the holy doctrine” or gospel truth.
This sounds weak – it is. It sounds unsure – of course. It sounds unconfident – yes.
But one thing is for certain: it is honest.
That is where life-giving selfishness begins, and where cowardly “gimme gimme gimme” selfishness finds its bitter end.
This is where I am learning to anchor my sense of self to – a life not lived by lies.
That means engaging with reality as only I do, expressing in beautiful ways what I sense to be good and true, accepting and learning from the imperfections and mistakes I make in my thinking and acting, and seeking to understand and engage with the perceptions of others without erasing my own. Being driven by curiosity instead of searching for the idea of truth I have already pre-defined. Having enough faith in who I am to stand against the crowd when my path lies contrary to theirs, but not being so stiffnecked I could not stop and bend when storms threaten to tear me down.
There is a line in the writing field oft-quoted to aspiring novelists: “Write what you know, or write what you love.” It is said that those are the only two categories, broadly speaking, in which one would be willing to stick through long hours of writing.
But there is a third category which I think is even more powerful and long-lasting, and that is this: Write what only you know.
To me, this does not mean you could only write a memoir or autobiography, or poetry about your heartbreak and family problems – and nothing else.
It means creating from the part of you that reaches even deeper than your mind or emotions – the you that senses things and makes sense of things apart from what others say about you or tell you about the world. (Or sometimes, even what you try to get yourself to believe about yourself and the world.)
And the last demand I have for myself as I live in light of all this?
That I be myself, without apology.
I wrote an essay on why I want to study architecture some weeks ago. This is the closing paragraph, which I find a fitting conclusion to this short essay also:
“I am human without apology – a woman, a dreamer, a rational being. I desire to be the best self I can be, a person of integrity, love, and power. As such, I ask nothing less of the buildings I design and create. Let each of them stand for something – as a reflection of all that is good and beautiful in the human mind and spirit, as a testimony to the beauty and grandeur of existence. This is my anthem.”
So yes, I am selfish. And I shall continue to be so, as long as I have a self.