I Like Being Me

There is something about packing up your life and putting it all into boxes that lends itself to contemplation and self awareness. It's the external inventory that swiftly turns to internal inventory. It has become a process that I thought would go quickly.

Take stuff. Shove into box. Done.

Instead I have been sorting, sifting through the contents of my life. I have the outfits each of my sons wore home from the hospital and a newborn sleeper. Often I will see a newborn out in public and think that my boys were never that little. I know I'm right too. My boys were both over 8 pounds and 21 and 21 1/2 inches long.

I have all of the letters and cards The Daddy sent me while he was in Okinawa before we got married and all of the notes and cards he gave me during our marriage. I have our wedding photo album and scrapbook. I can't bring myself to get rid of them, but I can't bring myself to read them either.

I have 17 different kinds of writing utensils and 5 different kinds of notebooks. Seems silly since I do almost all of my writing digitally these days. I still just love the feel and sound of a fine tip ball point pen on a piece of paper.

I was impressed to find that every sock in my drawer had a mate and I didn't have any panties with holes in them. Moving, for a lot of people, is a time of purging stuff. I don't have much to purge. I am pretty good at doing that on a regular basis. I don't keep stuff around I don't need or use. I am not a sentimentalist so the memory items I have kept all fit in one small box. Most of my memories I have written down and saved that way.

Poems and journals take up a lot less space it seems.

For me moving has not been a time of purging stuff. I found some toys my boys had outgrown that I donated to Goodwill. I had some clothes they had outgrown and a couple of clothes that were past their prime. Even my box of important files was all in order and in manilla folders and properly labeled.

I am pretty organized and can not ever be accused of being the least bit packrattish.

Instead this move has been a time of self reflection. Have you ever read The Things They Carried? If not, you should. It is about a group of men and the things they carried with them in the jungles of Vietnam. The things they carried held immense value because it all had to fit in a combat pack.

Obviously my entire apartment doesn't fit into a combat pack, but envy thing I have packed are things I have chosen to keep for a very specific reason. Some are for usefulness like dishes, sheets, furniture. Even these things tell a lot about you though. The bedding you choose, the style of furniture, the pattern on your dishes. Satin, cherrywood, stone wear with just a couple of delicate flowers.

I have always known who I was. Who I am. Who I want to be.

I have often found myself outside of the crowd because I know. I have found it easy to say no and easy to dream the impossible. I have not always found it easy to let others know who I am. Who I was. Who I want to be. I find it hard to let others in.

I have my own little world. I like it here. I don't want it judged or misunderstood. I will, no matter what, always be confident and strong in who I am. No one and nothing can shake that.

It's amazing that looking at a pile of boxes, boxes that contain your life, in one sense, can spark so much self-reflection, but I'm glad I had to go through this process slowly.

I am glad that I was reminded that I am strong and confident being me.

I am proud of my pain and scars just as much as I am proud of my joys and accomplishments.

I like being me. I can't even say the stereotypical it took me a long time to get here. I have truly always liked being me.

It just took me a while to stop being afraid that other people won't Iike me.