Normal?

I think many people who say they want to be normal, want to be average, to fit in, to be like the in-group. I've never wanted to be ordinary. If anything, my sin is in seeking to distinguish myself from average. I remember the first time someone said to me, "you aren't normal" and meant that with great affection. I've had anything but an ordinary life in many respects and yet there's a nagging curiosity about what I would do, feel, think, even look like, if I were listening strictly to my own voice.

At 18 I wrote a poem about identity:

Letter to Myself

I'd like to be a wide-eyed waif,

With smudgy face and pudgy hand

And roam the street and sleep in deep, blue grass

And never know what I lack or why.

I'd like to be a high-born lady,

With long, silk skirts and a fat, black cat.

And stitch all day and sleep in a feather bed

And never see the sun rise.

I'd like to be a gypsy woman,

With full, hard breasts and long, black hair

And drink purple wine and dance to tease

And never love but hot, young men.

I'd like to be a stiff-backed intellectual

With stores of degrees and greed for more

And talents to develop and ambition to harness

And never know the flow of tears.

I am me though. And what is that?

It's a little bit of everything and not enough

of anything to recognize myself as me.

18 to now going on 65--a whole lifetime of experiences--and I am still exploring the same question. What I'm curious about now is not where I fit in, but who I am when I no longer have to fit someone else's standards--specifically when I retire. I think of the old story about how you boil a frog--you slowly increase the temperature of the water so it doesn't notice and doesn't jump out. I fear that I am a boiled frog. I'm sure I'm a product of the work environment. How could I not be?

So this next year will be a combination of navel-gazing and trying new things to see what really fits for me.