Lost and found
Underneath the surface, the bubbles are rising.
It's been a long time coming, like an abstract premonition breathing me in the neck.
This presentiment of me becoming myself.
No, that's not it.
Of the world becoming more accustomed to me, perhaps?
Anaïs Nin wrote "I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself".
And Jeanette Winterson wisely added that "to be ill adjusted to a deranged world is not a break-down".
And I do have this sense of things around me finally getting used to the shape of me.
As though the world got tired of trying to change me and decided to let me be.
And to start giving me compliments just for being who I am.
Or, perhaps it was always just me getting in my own way.
So busy trying to be myself that I did not realize I was just playing the part of me.
I cultivated my quirks, but it was always more an act of defiance than the ease of being.
Always cherishing solitude, but I treated even that with defensiveness,
shutting others out so that I could reconciliate with what I thought I had been confined to.
I repeated to myself it's FINE, capital letters, and of course it is. I know that now.
Maybe it's age, maybe it simply takes longer for some people to catch up with themselves.
And as I become accustomed to the real me, others are finding me too.
So, it is like Tolkien wrote:
Not all those who wander are lost.
But then again, some of us don't know we are lost until we are found.
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