I don't think I know me . . .

A friend commended a folk rock group called Eddie from Ohio. I have a couple of their cd's, and am especially drawn to their song, "I don't think I know me."

The song rehearses a litany of ways the songwriter lives a "responsible" and upstanding life . . . faithfulness to dog and spouse . . . paying utilities (mostly on time) . . . mowing the lawn on Saturdays . . . believing in Jesus' words . . . saying prayers . . . attending the church on the hill . . . looking both ways at stop-signs . . . going on family picnics.

But then, with tongue planted in cheek, the writer records some very surprising things he has done . . . stealing a car for a joyride . . . taking a neighbor's Harley . . . driving the Harley through the potluck line at the family picnic . . . you get the drift.

The chorus, then, is the repetition of this refrain:

I don't think I know me
as well as I thought I did
I don't think I know me
like I thought I did

Couldn't any of us sing this refrain? Don't we all live under some kind of illusion about the kind of person we are?

You may live out of an interior script that says, "I'm terrible. I'm a failure. I'm a moral wreck. My life is a disaster. I'm a worm . . . a wretched sinner." And then you tell yourself -- and others -- stories that support this version of yourself. Sometimes, we even find that others want to confirm this view of us . . . family members, the Church, the educational system. All you know of yourself is that you are a mess.

Or you may live more out of an interior conversation that says, "I am responsible. I do the right thing. I am loyal and hard-working. I am successful. I follow the rules." So you, too, find stories about yourself that support this particular version of your selfhood. You work hard to appear successful, moral, and law-abiding, whether you truly are or not.

Most of us, then, hold either our shadow/darkness or our light. When we notice something about ourselves that is counter to our familiar script, we push it aside, or bury it somewhere deep within us. We get shocked. Surprised. We can even act hatefully (or violently) toward others in the world who have the qualities we ourselves have denied or repressed.

In that sense, wherever we are on the spectrum, we can say, "I don't think I know me as well as I thought I did." Some of our behavior will rise up to surprise us. We will scratch our heads and say, "Where did THAT thought come from?"

Blessed is the woman, blessed is the man, who can hold together both their light AND their darkness . . . who knows with a deep, inner knowing, that they are not fully either one ("either/or") but that they are both ("both/and").

I love the Eddie from Ohio song. It makes me smile. And reminds me that I never know myself as well as I think I do.