Could I have been anyone other than me?

There is a soft hum of energy swirling around my body, separate from the music emanating from the twenty foot speakers in front of me. My eye lids closed, softly, are acting as skin-thin shields against dancing blotches and streaks of blue-purple-green. The energy seems to simultaneously envelope the entire amphitheater and, yet, only me as sweet saxaphone melts and and mingles with the chocolate of bass.
I am momentarily aware of my mind being occupied by two twin but divergent thoughts.
The first is an ongoing reminder: that my maternal grandfather, along with a good collection of modern scientists, believed that music held mind altering properties. The second is a snapshot: My mother and I, standing in our old livingroom, Dave Matthews on the stereo. She asked if should could turn it off as it was "good" but made her mind "slightly fuzzy", making it hard to concentrate, she said.
My 14 month old son is strapped to my chest in his baby carrier and I am bouncing to the rhythm of the band's jam session, not so much dancing as being moved by the beat, with the excuse of keeping the baby pacified for the other concert goers.
My mind is now clear, although, the answer to an important question, sits in existence albeit silent in my mind. Earlier in the week, Kai's attendance at the concert had been brought into question by several acquaintances. Perhaps others' fears, concerns, ideals had weighed more heavily than my own hopes but in the end, I had won out, as, here we stood.
The question of identity, that amorphous blob of human sought telos has become the bane of my existence. The idea that we are to find that which ultimately "defines" us, that we may EVER truly be satisfied for any length of our lives with a stationary, pedantic, sedentary item, nugget of "truth" can't even find a home to congeal n my head. I somehow can not jive with the idea that we can or will "find ourselves". Many friends and, more likely foes, have presented this dilemma of finding one's self as the root of the division between mother and child. Like polytheists, the idea that we must have a circle, a collection of "selves" all ruled over by the one true "self" is key, here, I believe. A self which acts as parent. A self which acts as student. A self which goes to bars, another that drinks tea in the afternoons. Above all, though, and separately from any of these identities, must be the "true self".
"I lost myself somewhere in my teens," says an older man as he shakes his head, "but I found it again in my late forties in South Korea".
"I was such a wild woman in my twenties," admits a woman, proudly. Then a cloud of regret moves over her face as she shakes her head and mutters,"and then I had two children and I can't seem to shake the 'mommies'".
Perhaps I am so far gone, ruined beyond repair, from this alleged "true self" that these folks and their advice are, indeed on to something I can't see. Perhaps I am doing myself a disservice, listening to my favorite band in recent or ancient history, with my son. The 20lb burden dampening my mood, my resident succubus, eating away at my identity.
My tiny succubus lifts his head as Warehouse launches from the familiar constrains of radio ready march to the famous, breathtaking, life making riff of beauty that is an unplanned Dave Matthews "jam". He opens his eyes, looks at me, smiles and plops his head back down.
there is no place on earth I would rather be. My son in my arms, soaking in beauty of sight, sound and mind. Two thirds of our family, minus the beloved Papa, away on business. We are happy. This is bliss. Perhaps we haven't found our true "selves" but we have found ourselves in complete harmony with the universe and this is where we are supposed to be.

This is us and this is now.