The fog is here. It's as familiar as an old friend by now. The fog is a strange herald in my own personal mythology. I'm used to walking into it one person, and leaving it another person. A long time ago, a friend and I drove out to an acquaintance's house for a bit of partying. It wasn't a significant meeting, but on the way home, as is to be expected when driving while sleepy, I got lost. We drove around for awhile, not saying anything, because neither of us wanted to appear nervous to the other. Then he asked me if I knew where we were. I assured him I did, but really I had no idea. Every time I found a marker, I'd see things just past it that contradicted my previous understandings as to our whereabouts. Eventually I found the highway and we booked it back to the humble garage I was living in at the time. Not too long after that, I ended up staying out there for a long time. Once again, I got lost out there. So, the fog usually preceeds a new period of life for me. Right now, I'm talking to the student-rabbi and she's mentioned the final stages of conversion: the beit din (possibly a brit dam also), the mikveh (in January), and a public acknowledgement in the way of an aliyah to the Torah. I'm very excited about all this. I've studied for a year, and longer before this, and I guess I'm just really jazzed that it will finally be official soon. But what then? Will I then get caught up in this new identity and become lost in the twists and turns therein? No. You see, the thing that happened to me long ago happened before I knew who I was. I am still learning, but I have my foundation, and I am aware of my own nature. These are my guideposts, the lights that help me search for wisdom. They are the very basis of my faith: by knowing that Eheyeh Asher Eheyeh (I am that I am) created me in his image, I know that I can be aware of my own true nature, and that because of that, I will never lose myself again.