In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “For Posterity.”
Do I know who I am?
It seems as though my developing mind is changing ever so slightly with each passing second. My life unfolds in front of me as if it is a book I am both reading and writing at the same time. Words tend to pour out at me at any given second that I never expected to actually say. The definition of who I am changes faster than the waves of the ocean, faster than the air which creates the waves. In a year my life’s description has changed so much so I can’t seem to remember who exactly I was last year. The vast complication that is my life seems to become more complex as I grow older, whether it be by days, weeks, or months. Even now I am different and it only took me the length of a song to write this paragraph.
Mine is a complicated story. My life seems to contradict itself in subtle, yet noticeable ways. The one thing that stands out to others is my professional life. I get asked all the time how a mechanic in the USAF could dream of being a writer. How does this blunt instrument want to put down words eloquently strong together to reach the minds of her peers? The people of this world find this oil soaked specimen incapable of finding the words to describe a sunset in such a vivid way it makes the reader feel as if their eyes are set upon the fading light. I say to them as simply as possible, I am no mechanic, I am a writer with mechanical abilities.
I am a mystery. How does a foul mouth jokester come to call herself intelligent? It’s simple really, just because I choose not to unload my entire vocabulary into one conversation I have with a single person does not mean that it is limited to the words I used in that conversation. I find those who boast about their intelligence annoying. I believe if you have to continue to prove how intelligent you are by making others around you feel stupid it must mean you are insecure about yourself. I find it better to speak to people as if they are human beings, neither above nor below me, deserving of my respect until they prove it otherwise. An intellectual, and a lady tries to make those around her comfortable. Life is fun, why not joke about it? These foul words I use are just a form of expression, a rush of adrenaline, and release of endorphins in word form. If you don’t like them, you’re probably using them wrong.
I guess the biggest question I get about my convoluted life is: how does a lesbian woman call her self a Christian. I cannot honestly say I find the answer to that question easy. I have never found the tangled web that is the question of my sexuality and my religion easy to get through. If I am here to bare my soul then I admit I struggle with it every second of the day. There is only one thing I can say to such a complex question. I accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior, that is what I know, I leave the rest up to him.
The question of who I am is the same, but the answer is ever changing. I am a Christian, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a lesbian, a friend, an Airman, a writer, a mechanic, a musician, an animal lover, an extroverted introvert, a leader, a follower, and (God willing) a soon to be mother. Most of all I am a complicated person and I love it.