Identity Crisis

A great many people gawked at me today. I don’t think I’ve learned to fit in yet. I wore a pair of gym shorts all day, and nearly every person I walked past stared at my bare legs. I know my legs are objects of beauty, but it was a bit absurd. I don’t think it’s very natural to wear shorts over here. But it was over 50 degrees! It was warm, one of the warmest days we’ve had! And I just didn’t want to put on pants (Or trousers, as they say over here).

I think I’m starting to learn more about myself. For those of you who don’t know, when I was between the ages of seven and thirteen, it was extremely rare to see me wearing a pair of “trousers,” and I NEVER wore jeans. I had almost forgotten my childhood proclivity for scanty clothing, but the habit has stayed with me, a fact for which I am very grateful. These hardwired quirks of personality help keep me in touch with my identity.

I have found, despite my utterly unfamiliar surroundings, that my identity had remained solid. I had a brief identity crisis today. I was walking back to my flat, returning from a brief shopping trip. I cradled a bag of muesli in one hand, and the other was clenched tightly around a green yoga mat I had just purchased. Walking down the sidewalk, I slowly realized I was displaying tell-tale signs of becoming a hippy.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against being a hippy. I like hippies. Maybe I was even trying to become a hippy. But I’ve never been a hippy before, and I quite like being who I have been; I don’t see any reason to change.

I became worried for a second; what would my parents think? Then I got really sad, sad that I hadn’t seen this transformation coming from far away and prepared myself for my new barefoot, dreadlocked life. Then I saw this big guy walking down the sidewalk towards me and I felt myself thinking, “Could I take this guy? Psh, ya, I could take him.” I tried to look as big and scary as possible as he walked past, and I think it worked. Well, there’s not really any way to tell, but he looked pretty scared. Or at least worried. Maybe curious. The point is that I won.

I realized that competition is definitely not a sanctioned hippy activity, and I had a revelation. I’ll never be a hippy. And I’ll never be classified (rugged individuality: a very ‘American’ quality). I’ll always be the obsessively competitive, neurotic, satirical, contradictory, cold (in temperature, not in demeanor), and, despite it all, inexplicably happy person that I have always been.

And that’s the end of that chapter….