“Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
I really wanna know (who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
‘Cause I really wanna know (who are you? Who, who, who, who?)”
– The Who, Who Are You? (Lyrics by Pete Townsend)
__________
“Each one of us is a synthesis of the real and unreal. We all wear a guise. Even within our own minds, we make constant efforts to conceal ourselves from ourselves, only to be repeatedly found out.”
– Charles Simic, The Life of Images
__________
Who am I?
I could give a simple answer based on my job, family, place of birth, physical characteristics.
I can dig a little deeper for an answer: interests, hobbies, goals.
Then I descend into the murky depths of ill defined dreams, desires, fears and hopes.
Is my answer the same as it would have been last year, a decade ago, next year?
No.
That is my main argument against tattoos. I change my mind about what I like all the time.
I can’t imagine committing to a lifetime piece of public artwork.
Of course my choice of physical presentation isn’t an answer to who I am, but certainly others will catch a glimpse.
The mask we choose to wear shows us what we are afraid of showing of ourselves.
The stories we tell ourselves, are told to us, and we share with others are another part of the equation used to attempt to calculate who we are.
Yet no matter what data I collect on myself, I can’t give a clear answer.
Who am I?
Despite the chronic ambiguity, I still ask the question.
Perhaps there is some kind of answer amongst these blog posts.
I write them not for a clamouring public, but for myself.
I am choosing to narrow my focus on what I read and how it makes me think.
So I can say with some certainty: I am a reader and a writer.
Anything else is liable to change.
Conversations With Quotations 