Skip to main content

Reinvention Anyone?




The writer Baharati Mukherjee said in her novel Jasmine that" we murder past selves and reinvent new ones in the images of dreams. " I am a completely different person now that I live in Portland. Even my closest new friends do not really know me. They know only the self that is trying to be born. This reinvntion stuff is heady business.I find that somedays I try desperately to abandon who I was, but then on others, I think about becoming the same person, or re-creating the same life. It probably wouldn't be that difficult to teach full-time again. To enjoy what brought me a sense of accomplishment and pride; to fight similar battles and work toward equity and inspiration in education. We are so identified by our professions or our careers or our lack of them that self-reinvention is only for the strong. Try it, you'll see what I mean. It is at once terrifying and exhilarating.
With reinvention comes freedom- a word I seldom use because it means so much and nothing all at the same time. Self-perception can easily lead to self-deception and that's where the liberation comes in. How particularly American is the chance to begin again. Like the first hint of Spring, or the turning of a page it is the the way we shed the skin of complacency and mediocrity and embrace the mystery of who we will become next.
I'm wondering now who we bring with us? What if we can't murder the past selves? Such a strong word, murder, but I see why it works. Who can I become if I am constantly not becoming? I prefer to bring along some of those past selves. They become a talisman for me. (Talis-men) My future begins with my past. I prefer to be re-minded of that.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...