FINDING YOURSELF

Once in a while (usually in the movies) you hear someone talking about finding themselves. I seem to recall an instance of it in Kramer vs Kramer. Now, I've got to be honest with you, I think this whole idea is a bunch of crap. I mean, what the hell are people talking about when they say this? And by the way, does anybody in real life ever say it? Have you ever heard anyone make such a statement?

I'm especially perturbed by it as a result of reading Alan Watts, America's premier guru and most popular expounder upon Taoism and Zen. I own more books by him than any other author. That's how much I like him. And one of the ideas he harangued on the most was that of the personal ego, namely its non-existence. If you disagree and firmly believe it does exist, I offer you a simple challenge: tell me precisely what it is.

For example, it's not your name. Surely no one would say that. I can't imagine what kind of a dolt would actually believe that he or she was his/her name.

In an effort to get to the nitty-gritty of subjects like this, I frequently find myself in the middle of imaginary conversations with completely fictitious characters. It's a sort of variation on the Shakespearean soliloquy thing (and, I must say, quite often a source of some interesting humor). And of course I had one on this very theme (of finding yourself):

Me: "So, Sally, who do you think you are you?"

Sally: "I'm Sally Dove."

Me: "Well ... yes, I know that's your name, but who are you? Your name is just a sort of handle that people use to grab hold of you ... so to speak. It's not who you are; it's something you have, something that was given to you by your parents."

Sally: "Then ... I guess I'm the daughter of Raymond Dove and Jessica Tawdry."

Me (sighing): "Sally, telling me who your parents are doesn't tell me who you are. You're just telling me where you came from. Who exactly is this person that you refer to as the daughter of Raymond Dove and Jessica Tawdry?"

Sally (twisting her mouth and pushing her eyebrows together): "What about my Social Security number, or my driver's license number? Would that tell you?"

Me (pursing my lips together tightly, trying not to smile): "Just more names. Your Social Security number is just another name, spelled with numbers instead of letters. Ditto with the driver's license."

Sally: "Well ... if I'm not my name, or the daughter of my parents, or my Social Security number or driver's license number then ... well ... I haven't a clue. Can you tell me who I am?"

Me (eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought, trying to decide whether or not I should make this simple creature privy to the mysteries, which she probably wouldn't understand no matter how carefully I explained them to her, even if I beat her over the head with them. I can sense already that she's having second thoughts about talking to me; the soap opera she was watching made a hell of a lot more sense, especially the lipstick commercials. Somewhere deep inside she doesn't give a damn about who she is. She's just mouthing some words she heard someone else spouting, probably one of those characters in the soaps. I decide to spare her): "I'll tell you what, Sally. For the next two weeks I want you to watch The Guiding Light every day, faithfully. There's a character in it who has the answer you're looking for. See if you can figure out who it is." (I abruptly end the session with this, knowing full well that she'd talk the both of us into a coma if I gave her a chance to reply. I earnestly wanted to ask her what the hell she'd do with herself if she ever found it, but thought better for it.)