Now that I am partially retired, I have more time to read and to reflect on the content. The buzz word in finding our “authentic self” seems to be “find your truth.” And I say, “Where did I put it?”

I’ve looked under the couch cushions, in the fridge (next to the expired yogurt) and even in that drawer in the kitchen that holds expired coupons, a wonky hammer, a broken rubber band, and three twist ties I’m emotionally attached to. No truth yet.

Apparently, “finding your truth” is supposed to be a beautiful, spiritual journey. A soul deep exploration. A moment of clarity where the universe whispers in your ear. So far, the only thing the universe has whispered to me is “You left your curling iron plugged in,” when I am already ten miles from home.

When I was younger, I thought my truth was that I wanted to be a backup dancer for Gladys Knight and The Pips or maybe Tony Orlando and Dawn. Now my truth is that I need supportive shoes for my arches and to protect my bunions and a nap by 3:00 p.m. That’s growth, right?

I tried yoga to find my truth. All I found was that my hip makes a sound like a rusty screen door and I am incredibly unbalanced. I tried journaling, but my journal entries turned into griping about everything that annoyed me before coffee and a tiny little grocery list in the corner. (And by the way, where did I put that coffee? Oh yeah, it is in the microwave from an hour ago when I wanted to reheat it).

Then there’s always the option of meditating. But the second I close my eyes, my brain turns into a to-do list set to circus music. One guided meditation said to imagine a swan gliding on a pond and how serene that would seem. Have you never heard of the swan dive?

So I started to wonder… what if your truth isn’t a mystical secret you have to hunt down like a lost sock, reading glasses and a wayward Tupperware lid? What if your truth is just being honest that you hate kale, love Hallmark movies, and still think shoulder pads might make a comeback?

Maybe my truth is that I don’t need to become someone else. I just need to stop pretending I’ve got it all figured out; because the real truth… trying to have it all together is like organizing the junk drawer during an earthquake. It is a noble cause, but probably useless.

In the end, maybe your truth isn’t something you find; maybe it’s something you accept. Like your natural hair color, your laugh-snort combo, or the fact that no, you’re never going to “just try pickleball” because you know you’ll pull a hamstring. Or that extra ten pounds you want to lose is never going to bring the same joy as a slice of cheesecake or a Wendy’s Frosty.

So here’s to finding your truth—whatever that means. If you see mine, it’s probably wandering around a flea market, buying “treasures” it doesn’t need.