Silly Bandz

Today, a friend and I were talking about the fads of our youth, and we started reminiscing about Choose Your Own Adventure books, a genre of poorly-written, oddly sci-fi, second person narratives for children in which the reader continually makes choices that influence the plot of the story.

If you want to stay in the laboratory and wait for your sister, turn to page 32. If you want to climb into the giant bubble of toothpaste, turn to page 63.

Every choice you made drastically changed the story line, though some choices ultimately took you to the same place. I devoured these books when I was little, high on the fact that the author was giving me some of the power in my reading experience.

On the way home from the gathering where we discussed these books, as I came down 28th Street back into my neighborhood, I saw a potentially homeless lady, the kind you can lump together with all the other potentially homeless ladies. You know, bad skin, smoking a cigarette, damaged hair, layered clothes in shades of gray that allow all your attention to go to their faces with wrinkled mouths revealing years of poor dental hygiene, walking around on a block that has nothing interesting going on because they're always walking around on that same block that has nothing interesting going on.

You know, them. Except today, I saw myself in this lady. I saw my face on hers, as I had that sudden flash of realization that came in the form of a question: What's separating me from this lady?

Do you ever ask that? What really is causing me to be who I am and where I am in life, as opposed to where she is? The numbers on our parents' paychecks while we were growing up? A few choices we made, seemingly small choices that led to patterns of behavior that altered the trajectories of our lives?

I believe that our choices and our actions define who we are. Intentions are often meaningless, because no one else experiences them. They only experience what we do, and we create the world around us and who we are in that world by what we do. One choice one time might not define your character, but you better believe that a pattern of behavior does.

I teach my children that people are not bad. I tell them no one is bad, though they might make bad choices. In my personal life, however, I pretty much hold the opposite view. I will judge you based on what you do. And I will judge myself even more harshly.

However, sometimes patterns of behavior don't feel like choices. They feel like traps that every time you fall into, you shout from the bottom to the people around you, Please know that this is not who I am. Yeah, it was a choice I made, but it's not really ME. This hope in some hidden, true identity that has nothing to do with your actions surfaces, probably from the same place from which I authentically tell my children that people just make bad choices sometimes.

The ladies walking around on the same block every day must also be internally shouting, This is not my life. I know I'm living it, but it's not the real ME.

I don't know how to reconcile these two beliefs. I could turn to page 32 if I believe that you are what you do, or I could turn to page 63 if I believe that you are your greatest untapped potential. Either way though, I'm afraid the story might end up the same.