today i got a good look (a new look?) at my iris.
it is not so much that i’ve never looked at my eye color before. it's rather that i don’t think i’ve seen my eye color rightly before, seen it as fully exposed in blatant honesty as displayed in the direct glare of the sun.
on my license it says they are “blue”
which is not false,
but it's not quite true.
with the sun shining directly on them, my eye color is revealed to actually be the green of my mom dropped into the blue of my dad. the green dispersed itself within the blue, until the rim, leaving a bold blue border that is all my dad. but this border would be nothing notable if it weren't for the green from my mom which transformed the central color.
but, that color in the middle is neither green nor blue.
that color is something all my own.
i thought about how perfect a metaphor this is of who i am, of who we all are really - a mixture of our parents. maybe one parent is more at the core of our wiring, and the other is what defines our edges, but whatever it is - we are defined by parts of each.
but then there are these components of ourselves that don’t come from either parent. and we stand mystified when we analyze ourselves at arm's length, wondering where those things we see in ourselves but can't see in either parent came from.
it got me to thinking of how we each are the summation of an inheritance of pieces of others.
we are made up of pieces donated, given, and taken from family, friends, coworkers, enemies, even complete strangers we meet for only a moment and never see again.
we are also mixtures of the snippets of movies, books, art, and music we love best. the creative works of others become part of what we work out in ourselves.
experiences and landscapes become part of us too. the things we do and the places we go give us pieces of themselves to digest into our bones. we are made different by them because they require us to carry something different than we arrived with when we travel on from them.
and so we are a mosaic of all these pieces - other people, other things, other places. and it is all these bits of others that creates the unique finger print that is me.
that is you.
this is a mosaic that is changing all the time. growing and shrinking. adding a greater variety of colored glass and stripping down to just a few hues. sometimes we take in large, smooth-edged pieces. sometimes it is a scattering of jagged small pieces, barely noticeable, as invisible as a grain of sand.
sometimes this adding or removing of pieces hurts quite a lot. sometimes it is almost unbearable, impossible to survive.
and to think about this even further - you give away parts of yourself to others all the time, and these parts become part of them. conversations you share, memories lived together, the 1000 non-notable moments you don’t realize someone else has internalized, that you don't realize you treasure.
all of that is the postal service by which you send some scrap of parchment with part of you along with another as they journey on in life, and that is a thread they weave into the tapestry that is their own self. neither of you realize you’ve become part of each other.
but you do.
i am not sure what i'm getting at with this,
after all many have wrote of such things before,
but today i got a good look at my iris,
we should risk looking directly at the sun a bit more.