With so many things happening at once this month, I’ve been doing more introspection than usual. It seems the more asked of me externally, the more I retreat internally. Considering I am the ultimate navel-gazer, if even I am noticing a trend toward personal reflection, it says a lot.
I don’t want to mislead you. The things that are going on are all exciting, wonderful things. They involve family, friends, personal and professional growth. As it is easy for me to get overwhelmed, my natural survival instincts kick in during times like these, forcing me to lay low when I get the chance. For instance, instead of writing a silly post this morning about Shiva and a duck, I curled up on the couch and watched a silly movie instead.
There has been a lot going around the Internet – or perhaps just in my wee myopic corner – about self-definition. This is not an easy subject for me because I have never known how to define myself. At least, not since I graduated university. When I was a student things were much easier in many senses. For the longest time I even tried to get away with calling myself a former student. However, it’s been eight years now since I donned that cap and gown. Using the s-word feels more than a little ridiculous now. Kind of like talking about baby weight ten years after you are pregnant.
But the thing is, I don’t know what other moniker to use. I’ve never been overly career-oriented. I have a job I enjoy and that pays the bills. Beyond that I don’t look to work to find myself. I am a person. A friend. A sister. A daughter. Practically a wife. Those things are all more important to me than whatever it is I do for money. Yet somehow, they don’t seem enough.
I guess I am a blogger. Though I have never been comfortable with that term and have never dared use it outside this space. It seems a word meant for those with bigger things to say. And for those who say them more professionally. Not for someone like myself who rambles about her problems and posts goofy videos of her dog. I don’t feel like a “blogger”. Just like someone who has a blog. Apparently, there is a difference.
I am definitely not a writer. That is a title for which I have great regard. The highest, probably. There may have been a time I had dreams of publishing books in the fashion of people like Will Ferguson, Bill Bryson, or Mary Roach. But I know my limits. My writerly plans of youth are long behind me.
I am not a dog trainer. I can’t stress that enough. No matter how much advice I’ll sneak in or how often I’ll posit opinions on why a dog acts a certain way. Please. I didn’t even take basic biology in high school. Animal behaviour is so far from my spectrum of education it may as well be astrophysics. There are a lot of things I have learned while working with my own dog and I like to think I am decent at understanding her crazy ways. But I am in no way certified to give knowledgable, scientific opinions of other people’s animals.
Shiva is a dog. That is enough for her. She doesn’t seek any other definition, doesn’t need to be called an athlete or a companion, even though she is those things too. As long as she can be who she is and do what she wants to do when she wants to do it, she is content. Shiva doesn’t require a title or a special name. Dogs don’t judge each other based on status of career path.
What a different world it would be if we humans felt the same.
So what am I? A person. A friend. A sister. A daughter. Practically a wife. I guess those things are enough. Questioning it all may be where I first went wrong.