Who Am I?

I think of myself as a pretty average guy. But in my quieter moments, I know that's not true. I am not average. I am not typical.

But when I try to describe myself, I find it very challenging. I am many things. And none of them. The best description I can come up with to convey my essence is simply:

I am me.

If I try to use other words, I find myself floundering. I am a man. But while that's probably pretty useful information, it fails to capture the essence of me. I am an engineer. Again, useful. But ultimately, not me.

I am often quiet, sometimes gregarious, usually kind, sometimes annoying. I am sometimes weak, at times full of energy. Sometimes ill, but typically healthy. I am tall.

I am a husband. A father. A friend. A coworker. I am full of thoughts and passions, emotions and memories. I have a house and a car. I like to work with my hands. I love to learn. I love books and movies.

I love the way my sheets feel when I first lay down to sleep. I love to wake up early after a good night's sleep, when my mind feels sharp and my creativity is at its best.

I love people. I love life. I love what I have become.

But what exactly is that? What am I? Who am I? I know my name. And I know many things about myself. But none of them really get at the core of my being. All of them are just appendages.

There is a Buddhist concept of "no self," which I take to mean that what we think we are is just an illusion. I believe what the Buddha meant is that our ego, our collection of ideas about who we are, is ultimately not real. And the essence of who we are is something else. But what is that essence?

Is it like a flickering flame, ever changing, but manifesting as a more-or-less consistent entity? Is it like a lump of clay, slowly molded and reshaped over time? Is it something else entirely?

These analogies are useful for pointing my mind toward the truth. But I don't think the essence of who am I is something my mind can grasp. I have no name for it. Maybe there isn't one.

But when I am quiet, I think I sort of touch it. I experience something that feels ... authentic. Real. More real than anything I see in my physical world. Sometimes, I feel like I connect with something bigger than myself ... and sometimes I feel like I connect to my inner self. And sometimes those feel like the same thing. I touch the thing for which I have no name.

Am I delusional? Possibly. I might be crazy. But this connection seems to light a fire inside of me. It seems to make the world deeper, richer, infusing life and color into everything I see and do. It makes everything come alive. It makes life beautiful.

Is this God? Am I connecting with Him? I don't know who or what God is, though I used to think I did. When I am quiet, is it God that I'm connecting with? Or life itself? Or the universe? Is there any difference? Am I a part of God? Like a cell in a larger organism? Or am I just nuts?

I have no answers to these kinds of questions anymore. I used to think these kinds of questions were crucial. And answers must be found. And have been. But life feels more full when I sink into uncertainty about things like this.

I am not average. I am not typical. I don't think any of us are. I'm fairly sure there is no such thing. I am me. And I don't know what that means. And somehow, that acceptance makes me happy. And peaceful.