What's a Bandicoot?

My son and I were browsing through the Smithsonian's fabulous Natural History book – or, as we call it, the Great Big Book of Everything – trolling for bizarre animals. (This is is a thoroughly awesome book, both for browsing and for braining intruders, as it weighs about 15 pounds) .... and we ran across the bandicoot.

The bandicoot is an Australian animal that looks something like an aardvaark and something like an opossum.  But its real claim to fame is that it is called a bandicoot.  You've got to love the Aussies, who truly excel at animal naming.  These are the people who brought us the platypus, the kookaburra, and the wallaby.  I wish Australians could name more things.  

Today I launch Blue Bandicoot as the public offshoot of a private blog I have kept for years known as Scrawlspace... but without all the incriminating names and personal details of people whose lives intersect mine who might not wish to be splattered over the blogosphere. It's a combination journal, essay collection and rumination spot, with one primary objective:  the search for the Authentic Me.  It's named Blue Bandicoot because "bandicoot" is a helluva good word, and I'm not as creative at naming things as the Aussies.  And also because as I was trolling the web for bandicoot pictures, I ran across this interesting explanation of the significance of having a bandicoot as your Spirit Animal:  "Bandicoot is a great guide for those who are currently in a dark part of their lives who need some respite from what might seem an endless, shadowy, tumult."

This is a bandicoot. A cute bandicoot.

Well, so there you go. Natural History and Aboriginal mythology agree. Bandicoot it is.


Okay, if you're still reading after that, I'm amazed. Why do you or anyone else care who the Authentic Me is?  You don't, of course.  But I'm probably not the only one wrestling with this issue.  Dante started the Inferno with it:

Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

I'm 44, and two years ago I found myself divorcing my husband of ten years, whom I thought had been my dream husband; selling the house I thought had been my dream house, and moving into a rented house in my hometown of Norman, Oklahoma. Of all the possible pathways I believed my life might take, this was not one of them, and in just a few short months my entire future – or what I could reasonably see of it – was swept away. 

I went through all the stages of grief:  denial, anger, tears, wine, Match.com, sex with inappropriate people, wine, tears again... etc, and emerged into a new world.  My world.  Here, many of the old expectations no longer apply. Here there are new adventures like dating and mowing my own lawn.  There are new opportunities, like hanging up pictures I actually like and blowing off all but the most absolutely essential housekeeping. There are also new hazards, like my ex husband's new girlfriend and predatory colleagues who turn into Mr. Hyde when they learn of my divorce.

The upshot is that everything on this side of that period we shall refer to as The Crazy Time is different. Even the stuff that is the same is slightly different. I still work as the PR director for a natural history museum, for example. But now, working at the same job I worked at before The Crazy Time feels oddly anomalous.  As if it should have changed, too.

So recently I realized that I felt Stuck. That I feel ready for my life to Go On... but I have no idea where it's going.  I have no idea where I want it to go, only that the old direction is no longer an option and the old me is no longer driving.

So who is?

Over the course of the last few months I've tried on some new Mes.  Pretty Me is nice, but expensive and unsustainable.  Being Pretty all the time is just too much work. I've got to relax sometimes, and though I love the look of the acrylic nails, I can't really afford them on my single mom's budget. Community Service Me is just too exhausting and I can't maintain the necessary level of Concern and Commitment. Healthy Me (a sister to Pretty Me) needs a drink and gets bored on the eliptical machine every single morning.

So it appears I'm not going to be able to just choose a Me off the rack.  I'm going to have to go a la carte.  And that means figuring out a few things.  Hopefully the parts will add up to a whole. I'm starting with the very basics, here.  So far, here's what I have:

Me is not a morning person. 
Me prefers red wine.
Me does not care for sushi.

Riveting, I know.  Stay tuned, I'll keep you posted.