The Person I Used to Be

"I want to be the person I used to be.” Maybe it is just this week, or the phase of the moon, but for some reason, I seem to be hearing these words repeatedly this week. So much so that I began to wonder if I, too, longed for the person I once was. Then the confusion set in. What does that statement actually mean? Who am I? Who was I? And if those two are different, where did that second person go?

Listening to the people I work with, and yes, listening to myself as well, it is all too apparent how much of our time, in actual minutes, is spent defending our identity. We do this all day long. Every time we say, “This is who I am,” “I like this,” “I can’t do that,” “I’m just that way,” we maintain and solidify our identity. Every desire, every dislike, every preference reflects our attempt at identity defense. Yet, the bigger question remains: who is this identity that we are fighting so hard to keep in place?

When I sweepingly state that I am no longer the same person I was when I was 20, how do I know this to be true? My mind immediately list of all the things I have learned, all the behaviors I no longer engage in, all the ideas I have long since surrendered. Still, does that suggest that “I” am no longer the same person? I still favor the color orange. I still listen to jazz. I still delight in warm, sunny weather. And I still love to wax philosophical. Does this define the “I”? Am I an orange-loving, warm and sunny, philosophical jazz aficionado? That must be it!

So who are we? Are we our families, our education, our hobbies, our jobs? Isn’t the first question you hear upon meeting someone new, “What do you do for a living?” Work is something we do 40 hours a week, if we are lucky (it could be 60 – 80, or not at all – and which one would be the fortunate situation, I wonder?). That must be the essence of the “I.”

The mystics remind us that we are not our thoughts, we are not our actions, we are not our defended identities. Meditation invites us to be still and observe. This is one method of beginning to uncover the “I” we so eagerly defend. When I sit, I just watch the impulses, sensations and thoughts as they rise and fall. Some are so seductive they pull me away from the place of observation. I follow them, embrace them and consider them “real.” Yet, are they? Being still and watching the mind as it does its pyrotechnics, flashing brightly and blindingly, can be amazingly enticing. The more I follow every sensation and thought, the more I am their servant, and the more I agree that the “I” of which I speak is synonymous with my sensations, feelings and thoughts.

When we bemoan of our longing to be the person we were at back then, we need to stop and ask ourselves, “Who am I now?” And, “How do I know?” Take a moment and be still. Take the stance of a detective, someone trying to solve a mystery. Can you watch your sensations and thoughts as they arise? Then, when you catch them as they emerge, inquiry as to their origin. From where did they arise? Is their birthplace, the “I” that you seek? And maybe, just maybe, everything you tell yourself about yourself, isn’t true. What would that be like?