I have a paper to work on, so of course, I want to do anything but.
I was thinking about the title I originally gave to this blog when I was just beginning. Piece of Glass. Thinking about reflections. And what they mean. I think at that point in my life, I was much more focused on the physical manifestations of reflection and dissatisfaction. I’d like to think that, for the most part, I have progressed beyond that worry. Put at least a few childish things behind me. But I find, the question of reflection and authority still stands.
To whom do I give authority in my life? Who or what gets to reflect me? What reflection do I trust? To whom do I give the right and privilege of naming me? Do I put my faith in the bathroom mirror which throws my mottled skin and dark roots into sharp, fluorescent perspective? Do I put my faith in the red pen markings scattered on assignments, tests, and papers? Do I trust the body language, the near imperceptible shifts in eye contact, the tones of voice that fluctuate and indicate something or perhaps nothing? Do I trust the Bible? That terribly frightening, shifting document written thousands of years before my time, but perhaps for my eyes at this moment. Do I put my faith in popular culture? In fashion and trends and the latest news, gossip, and technology? Do I trust Kurt Vonnegut and Mason Cooley? Perhaps Virginia Woolf.
Do I trust myself? Its been 23 and a half years, but I’m still not sure I’ve met me. Could I be trusted to name, describe, or reflect myself?
Maybe not. Maybe its less a reflection in a mirror and more a reflection in a pond. I catch a glimpse, but then the tide changes, or a pebble is tossed in the water and concentric circles shift the image. Its not something solid, unchangeable, and iron. I am fluid, ever-changing, and beautifully flexible.
I don’t think I can be reflected, because I don’t think I have arrived. And I hope I never do.