I wonder what will happen to me, who I’ll be, what I’ll do. This thing I’m doing is so strange and I’m so unsure that I can barely project my imagination to afterward. I barely know who I am, now. I feel faceless, even now. Speculating about the future, envisioning it, seeing myself there, even in my most vivid imaginings, I’m unrecognizable; it’s like Oliver Sacks and his face-blindness, but I’m the one I don’t know.
I used to love walking the streets of my city. I would watch myself in the pane glass display windows, check my posture, my hair, the way my jacket hung and try not to smile – I thought that well of myself or my vanity was that deep. Now, when I catch my reflection, I ask, “Really? Is that what who I am? Is this what I’m doing? Where am I going?”
Answers are plenty, but answers that aren’t just projection and wish fulfillment…. few.
I’m scared with a smile, kids. This loud little rollercoaster I’m on is a wee scary but I let go the bar and raise my hands above my head like everybody else.