Identity

We are what we do, not what we aspire to do.

I recently picked up a self-help book in the discount section of my favorite book retailer because the title caught my eye.  The words "national bestseller" was emblazoned on the front, and because the chapters were interestingly titled, I went for it.

It was a terrible book.  I was absolutely shocked that the book was any kind of a bestseller--and that it was published in the first place.  The writing was sloppy and banal.  The "truths" were either simple observations of no great profundity or stolen from common usage--just as the title was.  The one or two chapter titles that interested me were red herrings:  The actual text didn't even address the chapter titles! 

I immediately soothed myself by writing a review of the book (elsewhere.)  I make most of my purchases online or after reading product reviews online, so I felt it was fair to counter the propoganda on the book's cover with a good dose of reality. 

Then it hit me:  I'd bought the book.  I was one of the sheep that made the thing a "bestseller."  All those negative thoughts I'd had about the people who bought the book?  I was the target. 

It was a little surreal.  I began to think through some of the ramifications of the insight, especially what it says about my identity.

We are what we do.  We are not what we aspire to do.

As a person who comes up with new ideas quickly and easily, but has some trouble finishing projects I've started (though I'm much better at this than I used to be), that thought is troubling.  I began to think of some the aspirations I've had in my life: write and publish a novel, become a great artist, have a large family, be a rock in the community, inspire others, have a household that nurtures others through hospitality and acceptance, teach what I've learned . . .

I read the blog "Wisdom of the Hands" by Doug Stowe.  I may not always agree with Mr. Stowe, but I wholeheartedly agree with the reoccurring theme in his blog.  He believes that children in public education today don't use their hands enough.  They don't know how to use power tools.  They don't generate meaningful products while on their educational journey.  He believes that this directly impacts not only the children's self esteem (negatively), but also changes the fabric of life in the long run.

We are what we do, not what we aspire to do. 

An office worker who pushes papers for a large corporation becomes invisible.  The tasks they complete each day are absorbed into the company and reappear each day, regardless of the quality of the work and even regardless of the identity of the worker. 

I had that feeling when I was a retail store manager.  I worked very hard for years, but my work never seemed to matter for more than a day.  After I quit my job to stay home with my son, nothing remained of my work.  The relationships that I'd cultivated over the years quickly died, and I was soon left with nothing meaningful.  The store closed a couple of years after that, so I couldn't even point to the store after a while. 

My dedication to the job (many times at the expense of my family) was a wasted effort.  Now some could argue that I'd managed things well and that had made the company's owner a little richer, and that would be true.  I'd learned valuable people skills--yep.  I knew from the inside how retail business works--yep.  But as far as what I'd actually done, there was no trace.  And once I quit my job, my identity as a store manager evaporated as well.

I wrote poems once.  They're still around.  I wrote short stories.  Still here.  I made some clothes.  They're upstairs.  I made a quilt or two.  They're currently keeping myself and my family warm.  I think of the other things I've done, gathering genealogy information and putting it into a form others can understand.  Making a book of my grandmother's poems and passing it out to family members.

Those things, which I considered "extra" at the time, are the things that define me. Think about how we refer to someone at a party or a gathering:  "There's the woman who made those cookies."  "That's the guy who made that incredible hole-in-one."  "He's the one who never cuts his grass."

You never hear, "See that young man?  He's the one who wants to become rich."  "That lady is the one who wishes she could sing." 

We are what we do.  And the encouragement to do is all around us. 

 "Every blade of grass has it's Angel that bends over it and whispers, "Grow, grow."
                            --The Talmud