And.. Publish!
Welcome. My name is Rachael (with an a), I’m 23 years old and I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I work for a public school district, don’t have any pets, and like going to breweries.
It’s weird how now that I’ve shared my basic information, we’re on a personal level (at least that’s how it works in corporate America in the Midwest right?) Do you feel like you know me yet?
I hope not. Our identities make us whole, however they don’t fit within a standard pie chart. There isn’t a part of me that is just my political views, a part of me that are (some of) my roles as a daughter and friend, or a part that adores zodiacs and melts from the smell of my mom’s perfume. All of these “parts” overlap and intersect, and are in continuous flux and development. I could list you the parts of me that I can name today, but they’d be different in two days and at odds with what they were two weeks ago.
But in the enduring exploration of ourselves to become authentically human and to connect with the things that make us, us, I have never been successful in taking the time to reflect and dive deep because, well, it’s TERRIFYING to do so. Now, at 23 and single and working 8–4 and part time jobs and paying rent and paying for a car and paying college loans from a degree I somehow managed to earn and paying the cost of doing the things the world has always told me were “right,’’ I truly have no clue what “doing things right” even means.
Instead of trying to answer that abstract question, I have decided to write about me, my past, my hopes and dreams and what not in hopes of offering perspective for myself and others. I reached the end of a projected path once I received my college degree and then my first “adult job” (blech, who has the right to define what that is anyways). I soon realized I have no clue who the hell I am (besides a Scorpio sun and moon, Libra rising) and what I want to enjoy in this life of mine and how I plan on getting there .
Disclaimer for you and for my own sake: writing my personal thoughts and beliefs, writing in general, is a huge trigger for my anxiety. I overthink every letter that my fingertips push precariously together on the keyboard. The countless number of journals that sat un-scribbled in on my bookshelf over the years is dreadful.
At 23 I finally feel ready to throw my feelings and experiences with ethnicity, gender, class, religion, mental health, drugs, drinking, sex, coping, songs that make my eyes well for 30 seconds and the terrible things I’ve thought into the atmosphere. Identity is wrapped through and around these moments and immutable traits and background, and I am thankful to those in my life who have motivated me to share my perspective of the world. We learn so much about others through personal narratives, and I wouldn’t feel right urging others in both my professional and personal spheres to do so without having spent the time doing so myself.
Another disclaimer: I am not writing about my experiences believing I am truly unique and no other human in this world has the same experiences or that my trauma is somehow competing against others. This sharing of myself with you is truly as an outlet, a coping mechanism, and platform for embracing the nooks and crannies of ourselves dentro de la grande locura de esta vida (in the mega madness of this life).
