“I define myself more by my questions than by my answers. Answers come and go. Questions remain.”

~ Elie Wiesel, in an interview with Oprah Winfrey

What the hell am I doing here? And I mean that in so many different ways, but I’ll contain this to the online world. What the hell am I doing blogging? Why the heck did I make a commitment to my coach to write my first post this weekend? How in the world do I find my own voice and speak my truth without sounding preachy or conveying that it’s the truth? Will anyone care?

Ahhh, there’s the rub. Most of my questions, when reduced down to their thick, syrupy essence, reveal one primary ingredient: the feeling that I just don’t belong. And I’m really tired of this story. Yep, I know the history of its origins. I know how it was nurtured, by circumstances and by my interpretation of those events. I’m trying not to be hard on myself; after all, what takes seed when you’re young can go unexamined for decades before you realize it’s a weed. But it’s time to move on.

So my question is, how do I find belonging? It feels like a quality that relies on external events—as though I need to know that others accept me before I can feel it. But I’m no longer willing to let this depend on the kindness of strangers. I want my belonging to be portable. I want to belong even if I’m “one of those kids who’s doing her own thing.” Because most likely—if my 43 years of life so far is any indication of the future—I will be “doing my own thing.” I need it to start with me.

Ok, so what do *I* want to belong to? I want to belong to myself. How? I don’t know yet, but I guess that’s the question I need to keep asking. Here’s where I’m going to start:

• I will no longer silently shun and shame my pooh-bear-tummy because it doesn’t look like the tight abs featured in magazines. In the mornings, I’ll hold my feet, my knees, ribs, tummy, and neck and remind them—and all the parts in between, the tendons underneath, the organs inside—that I’m grateful for what they’ve done for me and what they are about to do that day.
• Every day I’m going to go on the hunt for things that I love—sights, sounds, colors, ideas, people, places, poems, movies, moments, you name it. And I’m going to find ways to work these things into every day. Because that’s what I would do for a friend if she was feeling a bit untethered.
• I’ll no longer measure myself by society’s extroverted standards. If I choose not to share a thought during a conference call, that’s fine; it’s a choice and no longer a default reaction. If my version of joy one Saturday morning involves my Kindle,  a tall non-fat chai, the dogs lounging at my feet, and my husband reading the paper nearby, I won’t let anyone say that it doesn’t kick ass. I will feed my need for connection through one-on-one or small group conversations. I’m looking for others who also may not feel they belong, and we’ll belong together.
• I will teach others how to treat me. It’s time for me to let go of devaluing my role as a stepmom and help others do the same. Constantly interrupting me? Not ok. Regularly being rude and dismissive to me at work? Let’s find a better way.

I realized the other day that this “I don’t belong” lid has an energetic flip side: a longing for connection. So maybe I need to “be-” with this “-longing.” And honor my longing to just be. It starts with me.

Self-Portrait

by David Whyte

It doesn’t interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned,
if you can know despair or see it in
others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes,
saying this is where I stand. I want
to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of
living, falling toward living,
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to
know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the
consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure
defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace,
even
the gods speak of God.