We Are But Mosaics of A Multitude of Moments

I still hold it to be true that we are not the sort of creatures who can be forged in the fires of one mere moment in time. There is no single event, other than death, that can cement within us our soul’s composition, but we are mere mosaics of the many moments of mistakes and happenstances that create the person we are determined to become. Do not mistake this determination, as many do, to be something that is outside of our selves, but understand as I do that the determination is our own, and we do so with the choices that we make.

I will hold it to be just as true that like a skipping record, we do tend to play and replay the most pivotal of these moments over and over inside of our minds, and when we examine the core within us, we may just find that it is crafted of pieces of those moments, our actions, inactions, and reactions to the replayed moments in our past.

What I find strangest is that sometimes the most profoundly altering moments in our histories are not the most profound occurrences, but it is rather the disposition that we had before or developed because of that event that we are made over in those moments.

I propose my own self as an example for this strange model. For as I look back over my life and try to hone in on that one “coming-of-age” moment, I find that the instances that spring to mind are not the ones that are ultimately the most profound but are the ones that I have played over and over, the ones that have created within my mind a sticking record that I seem incapable of moving past.

It is not the formative years spent in the most desperate form of poverty in the ravages of Alaska’s wilderness that come immediately up in my mind, but the recurrent nightmares that I had at the different times in my life that seem to show the shape of my soul at those times. I can look back and watch the scenes as they unfold and know that it was the fear of my own father that shaped so much of my sense of self. Still, this is not the single striking moment that stands out the most, but the moment that I stood up to him and held my ground as his fist was raised and pushed into my face.

That moment when I did not back down but looked into his eyes with as much anger and courage as fear. This was the moment, not that I learned about my father; for I already knew the sort of man he was. No, but it was the moment that I learned the sort of person I was. I learned the strength that lived inside of me, and I learned how to unleash it. I learned that even though I was not yet a teenager, I could back my father down and that the same strength that coursed through my mother’s veins coursed through mine. My father loomed over me, stronger and older than I, but something inside of me was fiercer than he.

It was not until years later that I realized the depth and importance of that moment in the formation of my inner self, but it is unmistakable now. It was in that moment that I allowed myself to be fiercer than my size and years should have allowed, and it was in that moment that I found a strength within myself to face down the thing I feared the most. This strength has coursed through me in all my years since, and when I feel feeble, I remind myself of that moment and the moments of strength and courage that followed. For if that small and seemingly helpless child could rise up, surely the grown up version of her can do the same.

There are so many other moments of strength that followed, but they do not feel as formative. Truthfully, it has felt that the rest of my life played out between the dueling sides within myself: the fierce and fearless twelve-year-old versus the fearful and fading face that emerged. Surely, the young girl who faced such opposition could only become something fierce and beautiful, but instead, she became someone dynamic, full of ferocity but also fear, and this was laid so bare to me when the scariest year of my life disappeared into the haze of a mind that couldn’t stand to remain present.

As my mother laid in hospital bed after hospital bed, fighting that monster they call Cancer, my sister sat next to her, feeding her, fighting for her, fueling her strength. Yet this once fierce and fiery child was now a woman and hid under the covers with the tears streaming down her face. Bot metaphorically and realistically, I checked out of reality and abandoned my family to the fate they made for themselves, unable to cope with even the glimpse of life without my mother.

How could I be so strong so young and so weak now? How could I who had so often fought for the safety of my older sister and mother now become so frail and useless? As I look back now on that year that wrecked my mind and body, I barely recall more than a glimpse; for my mind chose to forget rather than fight.

This duality of nature confuses and repulses me, but it is also a lesson begging to be learned. This lesson is that there is no man, woman, or child who can claim to always have been strong and fierce. Nor is there a soul who can claim to always have been weak and frail.

Truthfully, within each of us is the dynamic nature that is singular to man. That we grow and learn whilst also shrinking and forgetting is the uniqueness of our spirits, and the ability to learn and accept this lesson is the true test of our coming-of-age.