Who Am I?

Tanja Buzzi Moriarty

Word Count 564

Confession, I freak myself out a bit if I stare too long in a mirror. A pluck of a rogue chin hair or a hurried application of make-up, and I’m on my way. If I peer beyond the surface of my 50-something reflection, I begin to feel trippy.

Who or what am I, really? I start asking myself.

Am I simply a collection of cells accumulated from European nationalities?

“You have ‘Buzzi’ eyes.” My aunt told me once when we studied old photos of our Italian ancestors.

If I linger with eyeliner at the mirror, I see the hazel, almond-shaped eyes of my late, over-worked grandfather. People say he was a dead ringer for the actor, Ed Asner. I don’t think I could pass as one of the Asner offspring.

Glimpses of my late, formerly homeless dad appear in my mirror. During our father-daughter dance at my wedding in 1988, dad, clean-shaven and in a tan suit, resembled the comedian, Steve Martin. His mother of English descent was a female version of the Quaker Oats man, complete with blue eyes and puffy white hair. I am blessed with her smooth skin, but I do not look like the dude on the oatmeal box. I don’t resemble my mom or any of her Swedish or swamp Yankee relatives when I survey my features.

Do I look like that mystery relative? A few years ago, I sent my saliva to two different commercial DNA companies. Turns out, both say I am closely related to a person from France or Germany. None of my relatives ever spoke of having kin from either place. Somebody must have wandered out of one of the villages. As fascinated as I am about my cryptic clan, there’s got to be more to me than a multicultural mosaic, or mutt.

Who is this soul looking back at me in the mirror? 

Am I merely a visitor, temporarily inhabiting this five-foot-seven female frame? I search the supernatural to try to understand. Bible study tells me I am made in my Creator’s image. Is this a physical image? A strictly spiritual image? Or an intellectual image? I go down a deeper religious rabbit hole. If my image is made in the likeness of God/Goddess as the Good Book says, what part of the Almighty do I most resemble?

I can find some solace in not knowing right now. Corinthians 13:12 says “For now we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes, we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God].” (Amplified version)

Still, all these higher power hypotheticals make me feel stoned. I never dropped acid but dwelling on Who or What Am I Really? when I look in the mirror, comes mind-bendingly close.

Do I have some undiagnosed mirror-gazing “disorder” missed in four years of weekly talk therapy?  

I ask Siri, “What happens when you look in the mirror?” Tons of neuroscience-related articles on The Self pop up. They, too, make my head swim. I read about out-of-body experiences and losing time. These symptoms reflect more serious conditions like multiple personality disorder. I don’t fit that bill, right?

I’ll have to ask the woman in the mirror.

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Tanja is on a lifetime faith journey, grateful to overcome many toils and snares. Her pending memoir “Father-Daughter Dance” (working title), is about her quest to house her homeless dad. Tanja is a former newspaper reporter and selectwoman. She currently writes grants for a soup kitchen and food pantry in Connecticut.