Questioning Myself

Photo credit: Camelyn Gast.

I know who I am.

At least, I thought I did.

My goal in life is to be the best darn Loni I can possibly be. I’ll never be the best writer, actress, seamstress, programmer, artist, dancer, organizer, or whatever other action I pursue. But I will do my best in what I do. This is what I’ve decided with my life, and this is what I pursue.

I was confident in my identity, until…

It was Saturday morning.

I’d woken before the rest of the house and sat snuggled on the couch with my laptop, doing some writing. My daughter crept out, hair messy, sleep still in her eyes. She curled up next to me, rested her chin on my arm, and studied me. This wasn’t unusual. But then she asked a question that shook my world.

“Mama, are you really a squirrel?”

How was I supposed to deal with that?

My own five-year-old daughter doubted what I was.

Where had I gone wrong?

Of course, I assured my daughter that I was indeed a squirrel. It was just my mad ninja skills that had allowed me to trick her into thinking I was human.

But had I been acting too human?

I set about righting my behavior. I altered my hair so golden orange chunks show through. I darted about, tucking all my odd belongings away in their hiding places. I changed my mind when I was half-way across the road.

Hopefully I’ll stay true to who I am so that my son doesn’t question me in the same way when he reaches age five. Time will only tell.

Do you know who you are? Do you ever question who you are? Has anyone asked you any devastating questions lately?

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