Identities as Art Forms

[Barbara Master]

We are all artists moving through the mists of the times with the historical biographies of our lives. Sooner or later, we realize how much we need one another to fulfill the details of our stories.

Gifts of talents given at birth sometimes become distorted and stifled by imposed experiences. The freedom to openly share who we are to ourselves is a joyful and satisfying experience. Tell me how you honestly understand the inner dynamics of yourself — no matter how others might perceive who you are by outer appearance.

Share with me.
Barbara

[Jeanne]

I like that... identity as an art form. I've never thought of it like that before, but am glad you did. Identity is an issue I once wrestled with.
Coincidentally, the timing of my son's exodus into the world as an independent man, paralleled with a head injury I sustained, in what seemed at the time, a benign accident requiring a few stitches. I will never know which contributed more to my loss of identity and purpose - empty nest syndrome or head injury.
The injury effected more than my internal mind space; it also led to my arm and shoulder becoming unusable, months of physical therapy, loss of job and eventual loss of home and personal belongings.
As for the internal mind space - I was filled with fear... not an identifiable fear that I could confront, but a lingering sense of dread that left me afraid to go for walks and engage in ordinary activities. It was a very strange time for me... I thought often of the biblical story of Job. I wondered if it was a test to see if the ideals and morals I professed would stand up under the pressure.
No longer bouncing out of bed to support and raise a son, I struggled to find importance in myself… I wasn’t enough. So I went through the motions of living… as if I mattered. I observed others who were free of obligation to anyone but themselves and took lessons from them.

Time heals all… and eventually I rose from the ashes and little by little, rebuilt an identity. In retrospect, I am grateful for the experience, for the washing away of everything and beginning anew. The rebuilt me has a gallery of precious memories, but the hearth of my existence is where my identity is created and renewed daily.