There Is No 'Me'

I just can't have my own personality anymore. Everything I do, think, or partake in has origins that are not from me. There is just no space to be me!

Whenever I do something dingy, it's because I'm a blond. What I am balanced, fair and optimistic it's because my birth stars were in alignment with Libra. My eyes belong to my mother, height to my father, and big butt from Grandma. I tried to give her the butt back, but she wouldn't take it. I am a slow mover, eater and talker from some great uncle who wasn't even around when I was born. What kind of legacy is that to leave to a kid? Sheesh.

And now, just when I thought I had one trait that was all mine, turns out it's the writer in me. It must be true, because I saw the posting in Facebook. Writers feel alone in crowds and at peace when alone.

What the heck? I can't even claim to a desire for alone time without the writer issue pushing its way in. There is just nothing unique to me. How do people find themselves when it has already been explained by birth, profession, family and coloring?

Here is a personality hypothesis that I am sticking to: there is a difference between bakers and cooks. Bakers are more precise and analytical. They're the ones who stress about one and a half teaspoons of baking powder and one. Need to know which one you are dealing with in life? Have them bake a batch of cookies. If they are just the right chewy/crispy ratio, you have someone who may want to control your life. They have the potential to put your kitchen in order, balance your checkbook, and notice when you have gained weight.

Cooks are about passion, creativity and flair. In other words, emotional roller coasters. If their gravy roux doesn't thicken, keep all knives away from them. Pot and pan banging is a natural course of stress relief.

As these are my revelations, you can accept or ignore them. If you look at my dumb blond hair, you can easily blow off my words. If you appreciate my writing skills, my baker/cook thoughts might give you something to reflect on. Don't ask me to direct you on what to think. Libras are notorious for indecision.

My poor teenage boys can't do anything right by their own will. Every time they say excuse me, open a door for someone, or say thank you, it is because they were raised right. At least, that's what I've been told. They don't get one polite credit to their name. If they are moody, stressed or having a pathetic day, it's because they're teenagers. So once they turn twenty, they are on their own. No more excuses. They should start practicing now so it doesn't hit them all at once.

I would talk to them about it, but being a woman, mom and Libra, I am too much of a softie to discipline them on anything.

Hah! Got out of that one.

Well, I am off to eat my baked potato. In a past life, I was Irish. That's why I love those potatoes so much!

Heather Leigh,
Pre-defined soul