Very loud little voice

So what makes us, well, us?

Is it a combination of things? DNA, parents, peers, experiences? Is it a brain thing? A situation thing? A total ball of mish-mash thing?

When the times get hard, what pulls us through? or not, for that matter?

I believe that DNA makes up a great part of me. I'm stubborn, opinionated, feisty, all things that my Irish background says I should be. Yet, I'm introverted, quiet, moody, all things that my Cancer birth sign says I should be. But, is this all I am? Am I made of anything of my own choosing?

Sometimes I feel like a little sea anemone. Sitting in one place with little tentacles bobbing and weaving, letting bits and pieces weave over me before SNAP catching something. How do I pick what I catch? What I pull into me and decide to keep. Decide to add it to me and change me in a minuscule way. Has it been predetermined? or am I choosing?

A few days ago it was a bad day for me. Little things piling up, big things crashing down. Nerves fraying. Tears so close to the surface. Panic attack even closer. Rain pouring down, it just seemed so gray, so, just so sad.

Walking around the house trying for something to set the ship upright again, I walked past a messy book filled bookshelf in my hall way. The topsey-turvey books didn't lift my soul like normal. They just seemed messy, in disarray, just like me. No cohesiveness, no thought. Before I could even focus on the plan, I grabbed them all out. Shuffled them into an all ready overflowing library. No place to put them. The shelves in here are just as jumbled, just as chaotic. They went on the floor.

The empty bookcase stared at me. The wood shelves, slightly dusty, calmed me. It seemed that one little piece of empty did what an entire day could not. An entire day of searching for something to soothe the chaotic mind. Empty. A place to focus. To regroup. Calmness. The possibilities were endless for this little bookcase. It could stay empty. It could move to the basement. It could leave. It could go back to its original purpose. It could be anything.

Just like me. The chaos that surrounds us, doesn't define us. Just like me being Irish, being a girl, being born under the Cancer sign, being divorced. That is part of me but not the whole me. My past travels with me, not to describe me, but to remind me. To remind me where I have come from, what I have overcome, and what I will become. DNA, family, peers, experiences all play a part but the biggest part, I believe, comes from within. Within us. A little voice, that if it is quiet, will provide the hope and answer we seek. And sometimes, if we are really lucky, the little voice will shout itself hoarse and make us listen.

What happened to the little bookcase? It went back to its original purpose. It holds all the books that my grandfather left to me when he passed on. They are not old, or valuable. They are however, extremely priceless.

On a day when everything seemed hard. DNA didn't come through, nor did the birth sign I was born under. What did come through was a little brown bookcase, a collection of Time Life books and a very loud little voice.