* * * * * Do what you love.* * * * *
Shut Up & Write Prompt: The question, “Who are you?” is usually answered with a name. Only when you start asking the question over and over do you start digging into details not exterior to your identity. You are an artist, a gardener, or maybe an administrator, employee, or business owner. But you’re also how you see the world and the experiences you face. The simple question, “Who are you?” sparks so much juicy content. Beyond your name, who are you?
Who am I? That is a great question. I guess the only way to answer is to tell you; it depends on what minute, hour, or day you chose to ask.
Say, for instance, you catch me with a stylish beret atop my head, rushing down the street carrying a wooden box filled with brushes and tiny tubes of Winston and Newton oils in one hand while a blank 10" x 10" canvas is snugged under my arm. If, by chance, you were to stop me mid-stride and ask what I do; I might tell you that, "I am l'artiste very late for a class!" (Stated with an obviously French accent!) And that would be true.
Or, if you see me shuffling along the sidewalk, pulling one of those dual-wheeled wire carts (the kind you see little old ladies pulling to and from the market) filled with crumpled aluminum cans, I might have another answer to your question. You would find me clutching a Grabber in my free hand, making it easier to collect the cans littering the sidewalk without actually touching them. You see, that day if you were to ask, I might tell you that I am disabled living on a strict budget. The cans, turned in at the recycling center for cash, help me make ends meet. That day I would drop the elegant French accent in favor of local Bronx-speak. That would also be true.
On another occasion, if you spotted me in my stylish Lululemon running attire with the most recent and trendy jogging shoes on my size 9 feet (I would be running through Central Park, of course!), I would not stop if you questioned me. I must keep up the 8 minute mile pace...at any expense. Stopping would ruin my time and I couldn't have that. Since I wouldn't stop to give you an answer, I will tell you right now. That day, I would be training for the New York Marathon. I wouldn't win any ribbons at that pace; but I would at least finish. I would speak with the affected accent of the posh Upper-East-Siders. Believe it or not, that would be true.
I never know who I will be on any given day.
Who am I?
Gidget or Theresa or Tiffany?
That is the reality of my disease, Multiple Personality Disorder.
By Lisa H. Owens
Inspired by a Shut Up & Write Weekly Challenge
["Writer's Block" by lisa]