Well, it was bound to happen. Yesterday was the first day I actually forgot to write on this blog. And I almost just did it again.
This is a busy week for me. I will be brief, at least for now. Brief, I feel, is better than nonexistent.
This past weekend I saw someone I love singing a song I heard this person last sing twenty years ago and had this thought: For so many people growing older seems to be a process of adding layers to the self, some translucent, some ragged, some waterproof and even airtight. By the time a person reaches, say, my age, he or she is so buried beneath these layers that it's virtually impossible to find the original self. And then, in glimpses, or flashes, or bursts, it reveals itself, and the revelation is somehow both terribly sad and incredibly joyful. Sad, in its temporary nature, joyful in its truth. I would like to try to peel off some of the layers I have built up myself, keep from adding unnecessary ones as I age.
2 comments:
It's interesting that you see the layers as hiding the original self. I have a different view - I think of the layers as making me who I am. The child buried deep inside seems unformed in comparison to the complex, much more interesting person I am today. Even the layers that were caused by painful experiences are such an important part of my outlook, that I wouldn't trade them for the world. This is so very interesting - why do you suppose that you think that the original self/child is "truth" with the layers that form over time the obscuring of truth?
I agree with anonymous number 1.
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