When you’re a kid you are who you are.
When you’re a teen, you become aware, then ashamed, and then you trade who you are. Straight up — you for someone, anyone else.
When you’re in your early twenties, you might lose you entirely. You come home one night and find a letter on the fridge.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore.
I’m leaving. Don’t come after me.”
All the years of neglect and disdain and pretending you don’t exist, finally driving you away.
As the clock ticks and the calendar flips, you end up becoming many things. Some good, some bad, and if you’re honest, you become very lonely. You begin to miss you. You begin to wonder how you’re doing? You begin to have doubts — maybe you were right for each other after all.
“That’s it,” you say one night slamming your drink down on the table. “I’m going to find me.”
You begin to make some calls. You meet with people who remember seeing you last. You put in your two weeks. You pay your last months rent. And you go searching for you.
You think back to things you liked to do together. All those things that used to embarrass you about you now make you laugh, now make you proud. Gosh, we had some fun times, you say. How could you have ever been so stupid to let you run away?
And the search that you think will take a month, takes a year, then two years, and maybe a few more. You didn’t realize how far you’d run.
You read books about others and their search for themselves. You become diligent at reading the signs. You begin to know so much more about you it begins to feel like you’re one and the same.
You rehearse the moment so many times in your head when you actually find you. Every night you run through the climatic scene like a screenwriter, you just still can’t find the one to play the role.
Then, it happens. It’s a Tuesday. You see you. Across the street on 5th and Grand. Cars everywhere. People all around. But all you see is you like the actor crossing the dark stage illuminated by a spot of light.
You run across the street, frantically run up behind you, and you tap your shoulder. All the things you were going to say fly away at that sight of your face. And there holding your shoulders, you look in your eyes and say, “It’s you.”