This is about those two you’s, the ones to which earlier I said we’d return. I visit mine often.
I say that I visit mine, but it is more like they visit me. Usually uninvited. And it is not only two me’s that I encounter, but more like many me’s with many nuances. I aim to be courteous to others, but the angry me emerges. My contemplative me arrives and I set about meditating, sitting quietly by the fire, sipping tea. The telephone rings and my social me responds, trades tea for vodka and goes to an all-night party. The judgmental me (or is it wise? I shall likely never know.) awakes and sets about listing regrets accrued the night before.
I am attracted to the man who says, “Come with me. Let us live off of the land together in a distant mountain cabin,” and equally attracted to the other who says, “Nothing is of consequence” and the other who claims, “It is good and right to prosper.”
I like my house clean and orderly, filled with beauty and fine art. I like letting everything lie where dropped, dirty dishes piled up and the beauty of care-free, devil-may-care clutter. By equal turns, I want to lead and follow. I like to achieve. I enjoy detachment. Risk invigorates me. I want to be safe. And so on and so on and so the two, the many me’s clamor for light of day. To be known and heard. To live and breathe.