Will the real Miss Claire please stand up?

Not to get all deep on you, dear lone RazRazz reader, but lately I've been thinking about me.

Hopefully not in as selfish a way as that sounds.

Now more than ever (and by "ever," I mean "in my teenage years") I am wondering who I am.

Teenage Claire was subject to bouts of melancholy, but on the whole pretty carefree. Teenage Claire had no overarching mission, but she tended to be happy and fulfilled doing the youth group thing. Life was so simple. I was pretty darn irresponsible.

Now? Well, I'm twenty-mumblemumblemumble. I am irresponsible and I balance the melancholy with the carefree. I am a strange combination of apathy and analysis and entertainment. (I'd like to point out that this new combination tends to lead to stupid decisions. Since college started, I have watched more really lame movies than ever before.) (And sometimes, I've really enjoyed them.) I read more Dorothy Sayers, Blaise Pascal, and Kurt Vonnegut than I did when I was in my teens.

And the other thing is this. I knew, at fifteen or sixteen or seventeen, that I had no idea who I was.

And now, as my youth meets a fledgeling adulthood, I have little sparks of ideas of who I might be and it's vastly frustrating. I am convinced--I don't just believe this; I am convinced--that somehow, somewhere, a loving deity dreams up people. An ultimate Creative Mind and Personality, the Unmoved Mover, the God of the Universe, has designed me, what makes me tick, what movies make me cry, what songs make me go nuts, and how I can uniquely worship Him.

This means that I need to accept the things that I know I am. I like absolutely everything about art... I like to engage in slightly dangerous activities... I like nerdy stuff like words...

So... that's part of me, anyway. Who are you? Or, at least, who do you think you are? I'm really curious.