The Woman Un/Becoming

A year of losing who I was and the places where I can still recognize myself.

I don’t think I can call myself a philosopher yet. I haven’t yet found the words to newly describe the experience of existence and the individual lessons that seem to be assigned to all humankind. At least, not without using quotes from Aristotle to Friedrich Nietzsche that have already been said and circulated a thousand times over. In the meantime, I’m writing what I currently know. Maybe you’ve experienced this too or it serves as a cheat code for your own aliveness in your own current moment in time. And sure, I’ll drop a quote or two from the aforementioned.

I’ll be 37 on Friday, and exactly one year ago at the beginning of my 36th year a shift in my identity commenced. Things that once held my interest now felt trivial and empty. Concepts that I never placed much weight on before suddenly began to matter. I started this year of transformation journaling these words…“I don’t know her yet, this woman who I’m becoming, but I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Since this shift I’ve approached this year like an exciting trip to somewhere foreign — only there’s no map. Embracing that this is uncharted territory; that only time will grant true acquaintance, and trusting that it’s perfectly okay. All a part of living.

I felt my way through this year as if I’d been blindfolded, picking a direction here and there — leaning on intuition to discover where they may lead me. I tried new things like spontaneously signing up for a pasta-making class with three strangers on a Sunday, reading an American Western??? (albeit it is by one of my favorite authors, hello to my fellow John Williams fans), saying yes to a 10-day house swap to Paris. All in the hopes that she will respond. This new woman who is trying to emerge and exist. What does she like? What does she value? And most importantly, what does she want? Naturally, knowing this, knowing yourself, informs your next steps.

“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom” — Aristotle

Nietzsche’s key teachings are “become who you are” and “shed your old skins” — transforming by actively creating your self and periodically letting go of old identities. I’ve read these words before, in my previous chapters, and couldn’t feel what they meant until this year. What a privilege to live this out and to choose to embrace that shedding.

“No one can build you the bridge on which you, and only you, must cross the river of life.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

I paid close attention to what lit me up and even closer attention to what felt dead and inconsequential. I did notice that my heart still soars when I’m in my kitchen composing something. The rush I get in my body, like an inner glow that I can’t contain, radiates to the surface of my skin. Then I’m overcome with this buzz and can’t help but smile, teeth and all. At least I know the kitchen remains a part of this new woman, whoever she may be. Oddly, I’ve been preferring baking and making sweets more over my long love of savory cuisine. Something I previously thought could never happen in this lifetime. I’ve even been learning French pastries and techniques from a new friend I had the fortune of meeting this year.

Another source of light came from a surprising place — artistic expression through fashion. Personal style, wearing fashion is a genuine part; not brought on by society or relentless algorithms but because it’s another piece that was there in early childhood. From trying on my mom’s dresses to putting together my first chic “look” at the age of 11 ( a V-neck grey, blue, and black argyle cardigan with a short black skirt, knee high socks, and black penny loafers with a crossbody bag. “Celine box bag” shaped). I thought this would be cast off as just another former interest that no longer held importance…but it does. I think it always will.

So relishing in the things that make me buzz without inhibition, and shedding the old habits, patterns, people, and values that now make me feel akin to rubble, like I’m an old roof collapsing in on itself. Consciously turning away from the old that tears me down and making friends with the peace that follows those decisions. That feeling of release. That’s what it takes, I guess, to get to this next being. This is how I build that bridge.

As with any adventure there have of course been inevitable lows. The days of feeling that nothing actually matters. Days bleeding into each other with no notable progression. The sense of being in a holding pattern while time continues on without me. Attempting to grasp at an idea of what could be, not yet knowing if it’s even “right”. This awkward in between.

Though I've been someone who always had a definite plan, a general idea of what I should be doing and where I was going, I have overall chosen to exist happily in this unknown. Similar to the feeling of when I left the Air Force in 2012. There I was—23, free, and it felt like the whole world was open to me, everything was possibility. As though I was standing at the edge of a cliff, but instead of a fear of heights, of falling, I was so full of hope that I felt weightless. Like just maybe I could fly. At 36 I’m in the middle of taking flight again.

As Simone de Beauvoir said, “J’accepte la grande aventure d’être moi” — and it has been the grandest adventure so far. The next terrain to travel is my coming 37th year. Maybe I’ll be better acquainted with this new me at the end of it.