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We never stop changing, do we? And still…we think that we’re somehow stable. We imagine there to be some “core” that makes up our personality, that defines us as an individual.

Off Balance
I don’t believe that, any more. At one time, I thought: “Yeah, I’m Matt. There’s something that makes me into Matt. It’s there. I can feel it.”

Then stuff happens. Bad stuff. Really bad stuff.

Suddenly, that core feels like it’s been shattered and you’re standing there with a metaphorical handful of bits and pieces and no idea what to do next.

A friend told me, yesterday: “I don’t know who I am any more. No, that’s not true. I feel more like myself than ever before. But I don’t know who this person is and I’m disoriented and off balance.”

Combination and Recombination
We tell ourselves stories so that we know who we are and explain why we act the ways we do. Ask somebody to describe themselves. People don’t give you a factual timeline or set of defining statistics.

No. They tell you a story - I’m divorced, currently single and am not particularly unhappy about that. I manage a team of people, who are really cool. I love where I live because I can walk everyplace.

When there is a tragedy or something that changes the way we interact with the world, we realize that these stories are things we made up about ourselves. Yes, I’m single but maybe I am unhappy about that. Yes, I love where I live but that could change if somebody breaks into my house.

When those things happen, all we have is what is as “real” as our personality can be in a material world. We have that handful of pieces that is really us as opposed to the story that we make up about ourselves. We start to see what is really there, beneath the surface of our story and it’s shocking.

…and then we start to create a new story. We tell ourselves something new, something that incorporates the events that broke the old story. And we forget…

Change is Constant
This is why I got my tattoo. I went through a bit of this combination and recombination in the last few weeks. It was important, even if it was disorienting. Nothing major changed, my story is largely intact.

Yet, I realized that I was taking my own story a bit too seriously. I’m not as mindful or aware of what is happening as I could.

I worry that I’ll forget that there’s a difference between the story and what’s really happening in my life. I worry that I’m setting myself up for failure, that the more I believe the story the more horrified I’ll be when the story is shattered (again).

Therefore, I marked myself. I put the enso on my shoulder so I’d see it every day.

Today, it feels like I won’t forget that the story I’m telling is just a way to give meaning to the events of my life. Today, it feels as if I’ll be aware and awake and that I won’t forget that it’s all just a handful of little pieces that I glue together…

This is not true. I will forget. The tattoo may hold that back but even with the tattoo, I will forget.

There’s still hope. Each time I have to explain it, I’ll have to remember this experience and have a chance at acting on this memory. I’ll have a window back to this time that will help me remember that there’s a difference between the story and life. I’ll remember that complacency lurks.

It’s a reminder: life is short, opportunities are lost, do not squander these precious things.