Who Do I Want to Be?

When I was growing up, I focused on the wrong question. Instead of asking “who am I?” I constantly thought about who I wanted to be.

I didn’t particularly like who I was, and I certainly wasn’t aware of any of my strengths. I wanted to have the best qualities of everyone else. I wanted to be as smart as one friend, as pretty as another. I wanted to live in a house like so-and-so. Be as talented as another acquaintance. As funny as someone else. And, so on. You get the idea.

Eventually, I realized the absurdity of my ways. But, I kept striving to be the best I could be in every aspect of my small world. I didn’t want to be just an achiever; I wanted to be the top achiever.

This led to being in competition with everyone, and if I didn’t win, I needed to try harder.

Somehow, someway, I outgrew that behavior. Today, I see my strengths and I’m content with the person I am.

How did this significant change in me occur? That’s one of the themes I’m exploring in the novel I’m working on. How do we move from competing with our friends to a place of serenity in appreciating them in all their glory and, most importantly, appreciating ourselves also?

Does this idea intrigue you? Can you relate to what I’ve said? Of course, I know that maturity helps and that we all arrive at this point in slightly different ways. But the topic fascinates me.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.


Filed under Blog

3 responses to “Who Do I Want to Be?

  1. Roy Hebert

    Alice, this is an interesting view. I often wondered why we recognize so little of our attributes. Presenting your question, opens a possibility I would like to offer. Self-esteem is something slowly developed, if at all, in the process of maturity, yet essential in any self-realization. We must be “safe” within to give our self permission to know who we are. Roy

  2. I turn sixty-five on Tuesday. It’s just a number, but in our culture it also means SS, Medicare, those deep senior discounts at the movies. Wow, seems like I was just down at the DMV getting that license to drive. Yet . . . I’m happier with the me I am now over the one I was at sixteen, though I wouldn’t mind borrowing his body now and then.

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