I Gotta Be…Me?

I used to believe that the older I got, the more me I would become. I expected aging to refine me into my true essence the way heat, leaching, and separation refine precious metals. I thought the passing years would burn away my impurities in a kind of psychic dross, revealing a purer—if crotchier—inner self. I knew that self would not be perfect, but I figured it would be closer to the truth—the real me—than at any other time in my life.

Lately, however, I have begun to change my mind. It’s not that I no longer believe in an essence or self. It’s just that I’ve come to see it may not be the endgame at all. In fact, the opposite may be true: the endgame of life may lie in an un‑self—an essence the ego cannot even recognize.

“Don’t tell me you’re becoming a Buddhist,” you say. No, not quite, although I deeply respect the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. Let me explain.

I have two friends dealing with crises involving work, homelessness, career, and personal relationships. The wurst of it—as the German butcher said—is the despair of identity. From the ups and downs of my own life, I’ve learned that the most terrifying aspect of crises like these is the loss of identity. Who you thought you were, and what you believed your essence to be, undergoes a profound cosmic wrenching.

By the way, I had a professor in graduate school who used to describe his students in terms of what they were “about.” Initially, I thought that was cynical and dismissive—until I overheard two gangster types in a Bronx bar talking about testing somebody to see what he was “made of.” They left little doubt as to what “testing” meant. Oddly enough, my professor would have felt right at home beside them. I should have introduced him.

Here’s the problem: both friends refuse to see their predicament from anywhere other than their own barstool. By that I mean they either can’t—or won’t—get out of their own way. One of them comes up with excuse after excuse for why solutions won’t work. I kept proposing ideas until I finally realized it was pointless and stopped. I haven’t heard from him in a while.

The other friend plays the victim. Bad times seem to follow her around like a stray dog, and she stumbles along as if shoved by some unseen hand, waiting for someone to help. But she does little to help herself or take responsibility for her own rescue. I told her once how lucky she was, because all of her problems were self‑created. I was serious, but the conversation didn’t end well. I haven’t heard from her in a while, either. It’s starting to become a thing.

Other people come to mind who have great difficulty getting out of their own way. It’s clear to me that’s what they’re doing, but it’s been impossible to convey that to them. At best, the message reduces to mere words—an intellectualization of their own drowning. If that’s what it means to “be yourself,” then maybe the best thing they can do is be somebody else. Better yet, maybe they could become the un‑self, giving themselves a chance to see differently and imagine a new way of being in the world. Isn’t that why people take drugs?

I’ve tried it myself—not drugs but trying not to be me. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. Turns out, being me is exhausting, even though I happen to be in the camp of the lucky ones. All of my problems have either been self‑inflicted or can be solved with a quick bank heist. The former is fixed by getting out of my own way; the latter by selling some intellectual property. I’m working on both right now.

It would be refreshing to wake up in the morning as someone else. Even better would be to think like someone else. That kind of role‑playing shouldn’t be too hard for a writer like me—or for anyone willing to take the risk. I don’t have to keep the same thoughts, the same reactions, or the same old‑same‑old way of doing things. Maybe I need less ritual and more spontaneity. It might make me a little less crotchety.

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