The Parts of Me That Died
A former coworker recently shared the post below from the Pooh Memes Facebook account and it mirrors some thoughts that I have been contemplating lately. I have questioned whether or not some of the people from my past would even recognize the latest version of me (Greg 57.XX.X?). I recognize myself largely because I know how I got here.
Not the physical version of me, although I now sport a shorter haircut than I used to sport when I was younger and I am admittedly currently out of shape and above my fighting weight (I’m working to reverse that situation). No, I was thinking more about the less visible side of the pirate that has fought some emotional battles and weathered some emotional storms. The character of the somewhat grizzled pirate that has loved and lost. The emotional, intellectual, and psychological side of the salty pirate that has faced his share of betrayals, disappointments, and failures. The pirate that is still standing and still fighting even though he has been brought to his knees on a handful of occasions and that has previously considered surrendering. That guy. The kid and the young man that I used to be. The ghost that lives in someone else’s memory and in my own memories.
Just as I don’t look like the toddler that I once was, nor the teenager that I once was, nor the young adult that I once was, I probably shouldn’t expect to be the mirror-image emotionally, intellectually, and psychologically of the person that I once was. More experienced? Undoubtedly. Wiser? I would certainly hope so, although I have my doubts at times. I’m still far from being a perfect, infallible person. A survivor? So far. A saint? I wasn’t a flawless, blameless saint when I was younger and I certainly wouldn’t try to claim such a characterization today beyond that commonly applied to all Christians.
I found myself considering that the Greg that I once was died and I questioned the idea that the people that once knew me would recognize me today. I’m not who I once was. I would probably argue that the Greg that I once was has died on several occasions. Sometimes the Greg that I once was died badly. I hope that, at least in some ways, I am a better man as parts of myself died (or were viciously killed). I think that I am in some ways. Not as much in other ways. But I am not done yet. I am not done changing because life is all about change (if you disagree, I encourage you to read Who Moved My Cheese? An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Work and in Your Life). If I am not who I want to be, I can work to change myself. And my interactions with others and other circumstances and situations can change me. But it’s safe to say that the pirate that ultimately is laid to rest someday is going to be quite different from the one that came into this world. Parts of me may not have technically died, but they no longer exist outside of memories. And I would argue that is inevitable and not entirely undesirable… at least in a general and realistic sense.
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