So, What Exactly Are We?

There are probably a gabillion answers to that question, are there not? A bag of bones. Somebody’s child. A rabid sports fan. A bestie. The boss of someone. A role model. A speck on the planet. A thorn in somebody’s side. The life of the party. Flesh and blood. That’s just a starting point because there are thousands of descriptive words with which we can be tagged. But if we were to drill down to the absolute essence of ourselves, what exactly are we?

We humans love our dichotomies, do we not? So we think of ourselves as good or bad, right or wrong, weak or strong, fickle or loyal, winners or losers. And, of course, we are. We are all of that and more. A mixed lot. A walking, talking universe of emotions, opinions, intentions, wounds, dreams, cravings, stories, blindnesses, and much, much more. We are who we understand ourselves to be, and we are who others think we are. We are who we once were, and we are who we are yet to be if we live to see another day. We are the promises we make and keep, and we are the regrets that haunt us at night. We defy definition.

In our more honest moments, most of us might say that we’ve learned from, patterned ourselves after, followed the example of, sought to be just like someone we hold in high esteem. While we love about ourselves that we are unique and unreplicated in all of human history, we know that what we are has been influenced by others of our kind. Some of us are so deeply attached to our spouses or families or community organizations that we cannot imagine life without them. We are indeed wired for connection. Even the most introverted of us. Even the most guarded of us. Lumps of clay are we, molded and shaped our lives long by our interactions with all that lives and breathes on this spinning orb in the sky.

In our more curious moments, we might wonder if we are fully alive, completely aware, one hundred per cent attuned to what it is to be a human being with blood in our veins and breath in our lungs. A wise preacher, Frederick Buechner, observed, “People are so apt to drift along on the surface of their lives, not really seeing or hearing or feeling very much because most of the time they are little more than half alive, the rest of the time dazed, dreaming, or detached.” To dance with the dichotomies, how much more glorious would this enterprise of being human be if we were amazed, absorbing, and attached?

Written by Rev. Rebecca Taylor, Pastor, without the interference of AI