Incubation

I hope this post finds everyone doing well and enjoying the dog days of summer.  Question for you all: have you ever felt like you are waiting for all aspects of your life to come together at the same time? Like nothing is really settled or decided?  I have a feeling you are all thinking "yes."  Here's the thing, though: have you ever, in this state of being, been happy to be there? Perhaps even happier than you were when everything seemed set in stone?  You're not sure of your footing, but you are acutely aware that you have feet and that they can take you anywhere... anywhere!  The path isn't clear, but you see paths everywhere.  You try one, find a dead end, return to the point of origin and try another.  Nothing is clear, but you realize this with complete clarity; you are aware that you are unaware of what will happen next.  I have experienced this ephiphany several times in my life, but for the first time it does not frighten me.  For the first time, I am able to experience this feeling while also knowing who I am.  As you may know from previous entries, I like to explain things in terms of context and content; the context is that which frames and defines the content, and the content affects but cannot overtake the context.  Here's my theory: when you know who you are, uncertainty ceases to be the context of your life.  You become the context, and uncertainty is just part of the content you contain.

Psychologist and theorist Erik Erikson identified and defined four identity statuses: identity achievement, moratorium, foreclosure and identity diffusion.  Identity achievement occurs after an individual has explored different identities and committed to one; moratorium is exploration without commitment; foreclosure is commitment without exploration; and identity diffusion is lack of exploration and commitment.  Which stage are you in currently?  Erikson may not have endorsed my response: I have committed to an identity after exploration but I am also in a moratorium of sorts.  In other words, I think I have cemented the most essential parts of my identity - the things that will never change - but I am still exploring other areas.  Hmm, this calls for some new terminology.  How about incubation (because I am such a scientific thinker)?  Yes, I am a resident of an incubator.  Freedictionary.com defines "incubator" as "a place or situation that permits or encourages formation and development, as of new ideas."  Implicit in this definition is the fact that something already exists within the incubator.  For instance, incubators are used to maintain at-risk infants, not create them.  A baby may weigh four pounds and be fighting for every tiny breath, but he or she is very much alive.  The incubator does not house his or her identity but does affect the unfolding of that identity.  It's not a perfect example, but the basic idea is there: it is possible to be sure of your identity and still grow and change.  In fact, it is not only possible - it is necessary if we are to live truly meaningful lives.

This past month has been one of the most turbulent times of my life, but it has also been one of the most rewarding times of my life.  I have relied on other people more than ever before - something I have always had trouble with - and instead of missing my pride, I am aware of who my good friends are and of how good they are.  I am aware of the necessity of participating in musical endeavors in my identity - playing it, singing it and listening to it.  Career changes (of a yet unclear nature) are on the horizon.  I will admit that I have experienced some karma that I deserved to experience (without even being sure I believe in karma).  At the bookstore the other day I saw a man walking with two prosthetic legs and helped a lady find a book for her new grandchild after being yelled at by an old man and a middle-aged woman for trivial reasons.  Life isn't like this sometimes... it's like this all the time.  When you know who you are, these paradoxes and uncertainties don't shatter or redefine you.  They're just mechanisms in the incubator, reminding you with each whir, twang and click that there's always room to grow.