Self Reflection
The Me of Yesterday
"I Am WHO I Am" - Exodus 3:14
This I something God has said about himself. As creatures made in his image, we too are who we are. We have our nature, one that God instilled in us from before we were placed on earth.
But things we encounter on earth nurture us to act in various ways. While yes, we can veer onto paths that are ruinous, or paths that make us better, in essence, we are still ourselves.
Recently, I have encountered myself. The me of over ten years ago has come to me.
The last two weeks she has been sharing stories, and songs and poems. She has been telling me her lows and her highs. She has come to me in the evenings to interrupt my work and to play. She is even giving me advice and warning me about what I could become and what she expects me to be like.
I have been helping my father with moving from our house of over 12 years. As I go through the house to organize, pack and throw things away, I have found traces of myself. I have found toys I built, notes I wrote, items I invented to make our lives more convenient.
Probably more than anybody else in my home, I have left behind the DNA of who I am. But I do not remember doing this. It came so naturally to me that I did not notice as it was happening. Let me tell you, it is an emotionally exhilarating and draining process. Particularly when it comes to my closet.
My room has a walk-in closet. But it was never fully mine; my parents used it as partial storage. So, through the years more things would pile up and more of my things would get lost in the mess. Eventually, it became so full of stuff; especially after I moved away, that it was over halfway to the ceiling and there was just enough room for the door to barely open.
As we went through each layer, we eventually got to the layer where the me of yesterday lay dormant, spread out like beads from a broken necklace. This is where I met myself again. Where I found my reflection in a mirror, I forgot I owned.
I do not remember how it first began. But at some point, I picked up an old notebook from one of my many years in school and opened it to see what was there. In the back I found the first traces. This led to me opening every notebook, that for some reason my mother and I had kept.
From one, to two, to three, to ten, to twenty! So many, many notebooks. In the back of each there was guaranteed to be at least ten pages of "me". In addition, I found that I also kept a separate notebook for each year of school, one just for art, personal reminders, and bored expression. Random details of my life documented. Details that show my character and explain some of my current day actions that I did not remember had a reason.
I also found art books, some with amazing art and some with obvious improvement to be gained. Regardless of what type of book I found, every page was dated. Showing who I was, and when I was.
The process was so curious. I was such a peculiar child/ teenager. Apparently, I still am! If you were to ask anybody in my family who to be cautious of, the majority vote would be me. Not out of danger though, just oddness.
Now, I truly did try to work on my task of packing up and consolidating. But I kept calling to myself. I was loud and dazzling. Every time I looked into the closet, it was as though I was shouting out “LOOK HERE, look here next!"
Days went with no progress due to my own distraction. Whenever I found an interesting antidote about myself I would run to my father books/art/toys in hand and say: “Daddy look what I found; look what I made! Listen to this!”
I have no doubt I did exactly the same as all those years ago when I first created some of these things. This is a kind of reflection that I was not expecting. But it brings forwards a phrase I always find myself saying when I put extra effort into something.
“I am doing my future self a favor. I want life for her to be easier so I will do the work now.”
I really did do myself a favor. It is a blessing I feel few have or have chosen to retain. Whenever I found something worth keeping, I tore it out of the original book. (I need to consolidate; I don’t need a whole notebook of history homework when I can just take out the pages that are important. Much less over twenty such books.) I took the effort to separate drawings and texts.
Now, what truly caught my interest as I read through my old self, was that I was still me. Regardless of what I could remember, every bit of what I found was me. It was so striking how I may have matured, but I am still the same person.
As a missionary child, I embraced certain aspects of the lifestyle that allowed me to mature in certain areas faster than others my age. This created a value system in myself that is fully expressed in what I found. I am sure that if I were to also organize it all by date, I would see the progression of why certain thoughts came to be.
I have even found poems that are a near reflection of others I have written in the last year. Not word for word but certainly in meaning, intention and context. My subconscious self was still working on pieces of expression I began almost ten years ago. But I could not remember.
God made me who I am, and I am still me. I have not changed in anyway except age and maturity. How I wish I could remember the things I have found. How I wish I could speak with the me of yesterday. Not so I could tell her things, but so I could ask her questions and seek wisdom from a version more innocent and pure.
While I am normally an introverted person, I find that on all these papers over the years, I have expressed much. All my spare energy went into leaving behind a trace for myself.
Threads to be woven into a blanket. Each from the same source, only differing in years. By the end of my life, I am sure, I will be able to wrap myself in a long, warm, telling tapestry.
Here I would like to share a poem I wrote many years ago in June 2015; the first image in this post is a reinterpretation of the one I originally drew to accompany this poem:
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