I can’t imagine wanting to be anyone (or anything) but me. In a dream, maybe something else — a horse, an eagle, a dolphin. But that’s dream stuff, not reality. When I was a teenager, during those hyper hormonal years, I wanted to be anyone but me — though even then, I never wanted to be anything other than human. I grew into accepting myself pretty quickly. By the time I was in my 20s, was reasonably fond of at least the mental section of me. Physically, though, I’ve always had issues with my body. Ill health has stalked me from early on. By the time I was in my late 20s, I used to laugh and tell people that, with the help of modern medicine, I’m living proof the unfit can survive.

So here I am, alive and still complaining. Since early ill-health, I’ve moved on to major ill-health.  I’m sure someone elsewhere has even more after-market parts than me, but I’ve never personally met anyone who has more installed after-market installations. The good news? I’ll never be an unidentified Jane Doe on the autopsy table because I carry 4 cards with serial numbers identifying my various implants: a pacemaker, both breasts, and two heart valves. The piece of plastic fibula in my right leg predates serial numbers.

So here’s the thing. I don’t want to be someone or something else. Not for a year or a day. What I want is to be is me, preferably the all-original, functional version of me. That would be a nice touch. Even with arthritis, heart problems, a redesigned intestinal tract and a fused spine and having had cancer in both breasts? I still would rather be me. I would have no idea how to be anyone else. Would anyone? I should think that being someone else would be the weirdest possible place to find oneself. Weirder than being a space alien or a different creature on earth. Whatever rocks we have in our heads, they are OUR rocks!

So I’ll keep me. Slow moving, achy old me. I’m glad I’m alive.

Today was beautiful. Bright, sunny and cool. Maybe we’ll have a few more weeks of this. Maybe after two bad years, we’ll get autumn back, the kind of autumn for which the Valley used to be famous. 2020 has been a terrible year. A fine fall would make all of us feel a lot better.

Categories: Blackstone Valley, Health, Humor, Photography

Tags: , , ,

27 replies

  1. A long time ago I decided that, since I couldn’t jump back into my mother’s womb, and try again later, I had a few glaring facts to asses. But, by the time I was actually able to contemplate the possibility of such a move.., I had become way too big, and I was pretty sure my mom would not go along with the idea. It took me awhile, but I new that whatever I decided, I’d have to act fast. So, after a fair amount of evaluation time, and since time waits for no-one, I quickly decided that, if this was “who-I-am?”.., I’d have to be the best possible version of “ME”.., warts and all. So far, so good.


  2. Great read, Marilyn. Being happy with who you are is worth so much. And I hope you have a beautiful fall to make things that bit better. I love autumn too, particularly this one because it means we’re coming to the end of this rotten year.


  3. Excellent frame of mind Marilyn. If one thinks about that, what other option IS there, than to be who we are? I feel sympathy for those who feel they’ve been born in the wrong body (wrong gender) or have those sorts of identity issues. What must that be like? Despite all the annoyances it gives me, I’ve never had any desire to be someone or something else, I always felt ‘right’ in my body. Being grouchy and acerbic as one ages is allowed too. It’s a sort of reward (in my opinion) for surviving all those long years.


    • Getting old, as they say, isn’t for the faint of heart. I’ve had a really difficult couple of months that landed me right back where I started — just $600 poorer for an appraisal I did not lead. But I’m beginning to feel better — at least a little.


  4. That actually says a lot about you Marilyn. I feel the same way.


  5. I must have told you before that you make me think of a dear friend who used to say that his body couldn’t be cremated as he has far too much metal, poison, strange objects and stuff in it…. Against ALL expectations he lived to his 89th (or thereabouts) year! Maybe having so many bodily shortcomings, the body gets so much stronger to carry all the problems and difficulties?
    Garry, you’ve been warned 😉


  6. And THEN it allowed my “like”:)


  7. For some reason, WordPress is keeping me from “liking” this post today, even though it worked on some others. Anyway…I like your positive attitude, Marily, and hope this IS that beautiful fall you deserve!


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