Tackling the truth

As the New Year approaches, here's the list of issues my close friends have pointed out to me:

• you have an elusive identity
• you tell people who you are, exactly who you are, so that they don't have to do the work to figure it out
• you don't know how to stay in one place (again)
• you don't know how to be young/let yourself be your age
• you've been sad this semester. You haven't been writing, have you?

Although all of these hit me and have been absorbed into the whirlwind of self-evaluation that lives in my brain, this last one slammed me. It flattened me and bruised my soul. I got defensive and said that yes, I have too! been journalling, but deep down I know it's a lie. My journal is full of logistical notes, important transcripts of official meetings, the occasional lecture notes when all I brought to class was a journal and a planner...but no musings, no poems, no pages upon pages of trying-to-be-a-deep-21-year-old-ness. The occasional list of 5 happies, the daily lists I write of what I am grateful for and happy about each day. But now, as I flip back through the pages, I realize that even those are few and far between.

Has it been a semester of growth? I'm not sure. It has been one of change, without a doubt. I colored my hair dark and wore it straight a lot. I fought off bedbugs--twice--got locked inside and outside my apartment, had a breakdown about the gas bill. I made new, dear friends and rerealized how awful I can be at keeping in touch with old(er) ones. I have been forced to assume the role of responsibility and maturity in relationships, keeping my heart safe but extremely lonely.

If we back up to the year, I have grown tremendously. 2010 saw me open the year at a Roots concert in San Francisco with my sister, then in Oaxaca, Mexico, building a schoolhouse and doing graffiti and learning about and meeting with different social movements. Then I moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina, where I spent four months polishing my Spanish, bonding with Americans, traveling, working at a co-op, trying to feel useful in the world, and learning how to love myself in social spaces where my world orientation wasn't really shared or valued.

But going back, what strikes me the most is that all of these issues people have identified within me are defense mechanisms. Exactly what or whom I am defending myself from I am not sure. I can only hope that someone will do the work of finding me, of finding out who I am even as I tell them, that they will love my wanderlust, and maybe even join my travels, that they will love my youth and my old soul, letting me be a child at times and letting me believe I am anciently wise at others. Of course, it is up to me to let down my guard.

The last one is my own mountain to tackle. No one can make me write. My tendency to hold back from writing when I am not fully happy is one that will take heaps of self-love and strength to face. I am growing into someone who is learning how to be alone with herself. Penning down the pain along with the smiles is part of this journey.

"I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments." --The Invitation, Oriah Mountain Dreamer