Sometimes, I feel lonely for myself. I suppose I mean a particular self, the one that reflects, is caught by an idea and wants to follow it. I can go for a while, bound up in what's in front of me on any given day, thinking only about the things that have to do with daily tasks, "the business of life". This is my surface self, the one that works, eats, makes appointments and does all the other things that make up a life. But at some point, I begin to miss the self that lies behind my eyes, watching everything, taking things in. I see now who that self is - she's the one who puts things into words, who is always reaching for articulation. Something catches my eye - a person on the street, an encounter in the market, something on the news - and I find myself putting it into words in my head, describing, relating, narrating. My mind does this automatically and has since I was very young; it was years before I realized that what I was doing was writing. I am a writer, wanting always to put into words what I think and feel.
This is the self I sometimes find myself lonely for. The one who actually writes down the words going through my head, who gets caught up to finding the best way to say things, who searches for the exquisite moment when all the words fall into place. I could ask why I don't make more space for her, create a schedule and keep to it. Why not is one of the great mysteries of my life. But that self is always in me and when I'm away from her for too long, I miss her. I want to go deep and be that articulating word-searching self. And once I feel that missing, I'm already there.
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