Classifications

I never thought I'd fall into the cliche of my mid-20's trying to find myself. Yuck. It conjures up images of backpacking through Europe, all sorts of immoral experimentation and lots of excuses people my age can get by using the phrase "I'm finding myself."

But I do feel lost most days. Who am I? And what's really weird, is not too long ago, I had a very strong sense of self. I figured out very recently, though, my former sense of self was wrapped up in classifications. Who I am was routinely defined by who or what I was associated with. I didn't have to do much of the work. But now that I'm an adult, it's all upon me to show the world who I am. Confused yet? I've got a few examples:

I consider my high school years extremely successful and happy (a rare combo for the ages of 15-18 for anyone). I knew who I was: a drug-free, basketball-playing, God-worshiping, saxophone-playing, alto-singing, Green-Bay-Packer-obsessing, Advanced-Placement-A-achieving, nice-to-freakin'-everyone Grafton Blackhawk. Each of those associations meant something positive not just to me, but to the people who saw me associated with these groups. It also meant a positive group of people I was associated with, from the talented athletes (which I wasn't ) to the most brilliant of people (which I'll never be).

When I got to college, things got a little fuzzier, starting with the first rum and coke mixed for me at a party. Well, scratch the drug free part. And I no longer was among the brightest at Butler, nor the most artistic, and definitely not the most athletic, even in my own dorm room. But I still found associations, classifications that made me proud and confident. I was a radio-voicing, video-producing, sorority-starting, fraternity-boy-lovin', super-fan Butler Bulldog. Wearing the Tri Delta letters on my chest (or bag, or rear of sweatpants, etc., etc.) associated me with not only an amazing group of self-starting women on our campus, but women all over the country that raise millions of dollars to help sick children. Who wouldn't want to be associated with that? And my Bulldogs - two Sweet 16's and a National Championship game in the past 7 years - they're national sports media darlings that we get to call our own. And by virtue of paying out my nose for the next 30 years, I am associated with them.

But after college, it gets a lot more difficult to find a definition of self if you've never had to work for it before. That's not to say I didn't work hard during high school or college, but on the contrary, because I had no questions about who I was, I was able to focus all of my energy and deep thinking on my work. Now I feel like I'm in a haze, no, more like a ship, where I'm up on me one day, and super, super down on me the next, because now, really, all I have to associate with is myself.

This sense of loyalty to associations has gotten me in trouble, first with needy, negative hanger-ons in school, and now with bad companies that will use and abuse my talents and my energy without proper compensation, recognition or ability to move up. But that's another rant.

For goodness sakes, I don't even know what my name is right now. On half of my important documents, my last name starts with a C. On the other half, my last name starts with a Q. How should I know who I am when I don't even have a definitive last name?

I'm struggling to show which sides of myself to whom these days. Who needs to see exuberant, optimistic Mel, and who needs to see vulnerable, empathetic Mel? And how do I meld these extremely opposite parts of my personality into one consistent, reliable self that not only the world approves of, but I do too?

For now, I know what I am proud of. I'm proud to be from Wisconsin, the land of cheese, beer and ridiculously nice people. I'm proud to live in New Jersey, land of amazing food, radioactive waste, and radioactive personalities. I'm STILL proud to be a Butler Bulldog, and will be for a lifetime (or at least until I'm done paying back my loans), as well as a lifetime of pride for being a Tri Delta (which seems to increase as the years go by). I'm proud to be a wife, as undomesticated as I am, and I'm proud to be a child of God, even if I don't always remember to live in God's will instead of my own. I'm proud of being tall and blond with all the sunscreen and bad jokes that go along. I'm proud that people consider me a friend, even when I don't realize it.

And at this point, that's about all I've got. There's a lot of details to fill in, and a lot of room for improvement. But hey, I guess that's what Making One's Self is all about.

And maybe I'll just backpack through Europe instead.