The anonymous me

Ever since I came to America twenty two years ago, I complain endlessly that I am anonymous. That no one knows the me of Africa, the me of Israel, the me of Buffalo … on and on and on … 

… when really I am complaining to myself because I am anonymous to ME!

It's not that I feel anonymous. It is that I don't know who I am or what I want. For so long I have tried so hard not to displease others, that I have become numb to my own desires or needs. 

I once was told that I was everybody's shadow. For a long while I felt hurt by that statement. But they were right on target. 

Indeed, my anonymity lies in my not knowing who I am, what I am capable of, and what, if any, my needs and desires are. 

This is the crux. The core of my self alteration work. 

And now, finally, at age sixty, I think I might have the courage to find out …

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Being in a storm of wonderfulness