It’s Sunday and I went to church.
It’s Sunday and I went to church and I found out that I don’t know who I am.
Well, specifically, I was told that I don’t understand myself at all. Which is a partially true statement. The pastor said that the only person who completely understands me is the God who made me.
Let’s be honest: I can’t argue with that.
But this opens a lot of questions. If I don’t understand myself, how can I possibly live a life to fulfill goals that I’m not even sure that I want in the first place? What are my true goals then? What are my motives for acting the way that I do? Why do I experience emotions? Why can’t I pick just one favorite color instead of switching based on my mood? Why can’t I pick a favorite food instead of selecting all the food I would want for my last meal if I was on Death Row?
…see what I mean? Important questions.
But, for some reason, I’m okay with not knowing who I am. I think I’ll be just fine figuring it out as I go along my way. Usually I would be freaking out by this lack of information.
Why am I responding in a perfectly logical and calm manner?
Not sure. Probably because I have no idea who I am.