Sometimes I feel very confused about who I am and how I fit into my community. Well honestly, most of the time.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I want to be. I don’t particularly want a high-stress, fast-paced job. I’m too serious as it is, and I don’t want to be consumed by deadlines. But I am too capable and efficient to do something mundane — so what I need is something incredibly challenging but not unnecessarily busy. And I’ve learned that when I don’t feel like I’m making something (whether a difference or a creative product of some kind), I don’t feel motivated.

I want to be a self-employed, full-time student, lawyer, thinker, and writer. To be a renaissance woman. To do all things for all people but only what currently motivates me. And to be at home with myself and my thoughts.

[Weirdo recluse anyone?]

I read this blog written by a graduate student at Duke who lived in a van to study literature without accumulating student debt like Thoreau moved to Walden Pond to experience life away from excess, money, etc. (except, you know, living in a van is a lot less romantic than living by a lake. Just saying.) Only the thing is, by the end of his blog he was so focused on securing his book deal that he seemed to have forgotten about the debt crisis altogether.

Or maybe not — do we do weird insane stuff as writers so we have something to write our book proposals about? Or do writers also just “happen” to do unusual things about which regular people like to read?

Did Thoreau live at Walden Pond just because he needed something new to write about? Or was the insanity of that move somehow wrapped up in his identity as a writer? Are all of the claimed motivations simply our way of getting to a manuscript?

All of that to say, if I just do whatever I want to every day, will I ever have an interesting story to tell?

This has been my metro-ride-home blog on Identity, inspired by Sarah Bessey’s link to today’s Friday Five-Minute writing prompt.

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