To Myself

And now, a brief entrée into my line of reflecting on personal growth this summer. Excuse the amount of times "Me" and "I" are repeated.

Even when I forget you
I go on looking for you
I believe I would know you
I keep remembering you
sometimes long ago but then
other times I am sure you
were here for a moment before
and the air is still alive
around where you were and I
think then I can recognize
you who are always the same
who pretend to be time but
you are not time and who speak
in the words but you are not
what they say you who are not
lost when I do not find you

-"To Myself"  by W.S. Merwin

 

 

I posted this a few years ago, it's one of my favorite poems. I've been toying with the theme of the art of identity for a while, and this poem resurfaced as an utterly appropriate way to view the relationship one has with herself in times of transition and growth. (Even this blog's evolution is a perfect example of the way I've changed, and I'm still figuring out exactly where to take it.)

 

My summer has been... a lot of things; dry, nostalgic, exciting, busy, fleeting, long, short. A journey and a destination all at once.

 

Externally, I faced challenges in trying to be an intentional lover of people around me, from family, to my internship co-workers, as well as the displaced [homeless] people outside of our building. Internally, I've been trying to come to terms with what it means to be strong but vulnerable, and reconciling where I desire to go in life with God's purposes for me. (Next stop, Hong Kong! More on this in a few posts)

 

I've felt everything from happy, to empty, confident, insecure, inspired, heartbroken, on top of the world, lost, content, as if I'll never be enough and then again completely satisfied.

 

I always have to remember to be patient with myself. The only person that has a right to be frustrated with me is God because I am His, yet He is the only person who can truly show me patience. Even as I type, I acknowledge that my inconsistency in believing this is--quite frankly--pathetic. Yet, His love and the grace that comes with it is very real.

 

I like that this poem reminds that I'm not done becoming Myself. I have a long way to go before I become Me ("Me"--with the capital M--refers to the person God designed me to be).  But in that journey is identity, a substantial concept of a fluid process of knowing and becoming. This poem totally captures the stream of consciousness that plays throughout our lifetime, even when we're not listening. Especially when we're not listening. But when we finally do, when we finally turn away from the distractions of broken dreams and fleeting wishes coming true, we are left with ourselves.

 

Perhaps I'll stop waxing existential now-

 

Until then,
Me