I live in a professional world where certainties are sought and rewarded and relied upon. And I like them. I really do. I sought this profession and find myself comfortable here for a reason.
So why did I feel so weird tonight, discussing the wishy-washy-ness of what may or may not be my cultural heritage with R (see the last post for more)?
I'm not sure. I think because she asked good questions. They were questions I would have answered if my cultural heritage was work-related in the least bit. I'd know the answer before she asked. Or I'd have an answer that I thought was the best one given the constraints.
But, for some reason, when it comes to my familial cultural history, it almost seems more honest to admit that I can't know. I no longer have access to those who do, and to pretend that their loss is insignificant is wrong, so I try to preserve the mystery and appreciate it for what it is -- a wonderful, story-worthy gift.