Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder, not about the action in itself, but about what makes 'me'.
While I was home during winter break, I was waiting outside of The Spar for someone to meet me there. It wasn't a pleasant day outside- it was uncharacteristically windy in downtown Olympia and there was a man pacing, muttering to himself, a few feet away. To distract myself from the chill in my bones and the occasional glances from the oddly-acting man, I began to watch as people walked by. One woman in particular caught my eye. She was, by the looks of her, in her late-twenties. She wore a hat adorned with a felt flower over her medium-length brown hair and her clothes were a mismatched collage of stripes and different warm tones. Her glasses had a thick, dark rim that fell in the most flattering way above her cheek bones. Belong side her, she toted her son, or well, a small boy. As she crossed the street that goes between Cafe Via and Harlequin Theatre, I watched her as she walked, the boy gripping her hand ever so tightly, her muster a little bit ruffled from the indifferently cruel wind. Then, I noticed something. She looked exactly like me. How had I not noticed it before? The hat, the posture, the specifically cut brown hair, the thick black glasses-I even had the exact same shirt she had on hanging in my closet at home. The image of the woman lingered throughout the lunch hour and makes appearances from time to time when my thoughts wander.
Today, I was reminded of this woman. As I got ready this morning, I took a good hard look at myself and thought about who I am, my fading passions and the image I portray.
In that moment, out of fear, I walked away. I'm not ready to face myself yet.
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1 comment:
i like this. its very articulate, and don't worry, you're not alone.
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