I am presently wondering how me has changed as much as I did. I can dwell on the absurdity of the many mes I’ve been and debate which one is the more authentic one, but that would be oxymoronic, the “real me,” now wouldn’t it? Instead I’d like to baste in this revelation that I am an individual.
This is coming from a resurgence of autonomy. For a long, long time I have been depended upon. I know I will continue to be depended upon but in a much less immediate or demanding sense. This allows, no, forces me to be me. Again.
How do I be me?
What matters most to me?
When asked by others what they’re good at/what direction they should next take (God only knows why anyone would think I’m wise enough to have a decent answer), I suggest people record how much time they spend doing whatever they do during a week. Sleeping, eating, cooking, talking, listening, reading, dancing… If I turn the tables on me, then it’s got to be thiting. Yes, back to that word. I think-write and increasingly more often write more than I do anything else. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. For those of you who know me in person I’m throwing my plethora of talking in with thiting – sometimes you’ve got to think outloud.)
Me is the person writing everywhere. Me has napkins, sticky notes, half-sheets of cardboard, etc. with scribbles on them. Me doesn’t know what to do with them. Me keeps collecting and pondering.
Is that being me? Or is that me prepping to be me?
Back to that silly “real me” issue. I know every aspect is me. I guess I just want to know if this is the best me I can be. Am I squeezing every bit of creativity out of me or am I missing something? I’m a little anxious. I want to know all of me. True it’s fun to discover new mes, too, but I like to have all the information before I begin. You know what I mean?
So, how do I be me? One l-e-t-t-e-r a-t a t-i-m-e.