Shelly Beach did a great job with this blog post and I needed to share it.
I’m a child of the sixties and seventies, a time when generations of young people were busy trying to “find themselves.” I was never quite sure what that meant, although it was pretty un-hip to say it outloud at the time. If I pinched myself, I was there. If I spoke, I could hear my voice. I could see my reflection in a mirror. So the “real” me had to be there, right?
My voice, my reflection, the sensations I feel–not even my emotions–don’t make up the essence of who I am.
So who is the “real” me?
I’m not an accident or simply the biological product of the combined genes of my parents and forbears. I am not the offspring of “Mother Nature.”
I am so uniquely, complexly crafted and designed that no one else who has ever walked the earth is exactly like me. God created me…
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