I am a thousand thoughts racing feverishly around in a brain filled with too many lists, too many clocks, too many people, too little time. A startled face appears when I look into a mirror and realize the person whose blue eyes look back at me looks nothing like the person running around in my head.
I think to myself, “Who are you and why are you looking at me like that?”
I am awash in wanting to make tangible all the racing thoughts, the flowing seeds of ideas, the recipes of change and reordering. I am often lost in a field of wanting to create and tangled in a sea of half-begun. Everything around me is a partially completed creation.
I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. I am afraid. I am committed to noncomittment. I hide behind all the thinking and not doing and am not merely hidden from others, but lost to myself.
“I am trying,” I tell the person looking back at me from the mirror, “someday all this trying will come to something.”
Then the person in the mirror asks, “Come to what?”
I answer with silence.
I have reached the age where it seems incomprehensible that I am still attempting to answer this question of who I am.
Shouldn’t I have more answers by now? Shouldn’t I have a book or two filled with answers?
Should I still keep asking the questions?
Wow!….How old were you when you originally wrote this? You’re “doing” now as well as revealing yourself, as opposed to being hidden so you must not be lost any more