There is no "I" in Me and Myself.

I woke up feeling very much like myself this morning.

That could come off sounding a little strange, because - hey, don't we all wake up feeling like who we are? Because, we'll we are who we are?

Maybe. Sure.

But, today, I woke up feeling very much like who I am this morning. I still woke up to the tremendous ball and chain that is my health, but I also don't feel like I'm lost somewhere in this sea of 'what is the illness and what is me'? It's easy for me to drown in myself: my external self needs a lot more maintenance than my internal self.

Last night, I spent a lot of time reading about writing which, in turn, caused me to spend a lot of time thinking about who I am as a reader, writer and observer of the world. I was relieved when I read about how sometimes we get the crazies when we write, and everything just kind of falls onto the paper/word processer with no real restraints - because it shouldn't happen that way. For some reason, this rang true to my little soul.

Writing. Writing. Writing.
I love doing it. So why don't I always do it? I think about it, but I never do it. Sometimes, I just want to write down snippets from the conversations of the people around me, or a funny idea, or a word a teacher said wrong. I find myself hooked on little, seemingly meaningless nothings and I want to write them down but always never do for the sake of normalcy. But writing is cathartic. It's healing. It should go uninterrupted but never does. Writing takes you out of yourself, but also deeper into yourself. It should just be allowed to happen.

I mean. what do we do when we really, truly care for someone? We write for them: letters, poems, quick little notes. It's like we take tiny pieces of our soul and draw them with words on paper for them to keep and look at. Here. Here I am. And we cherish those things. Haven't you ever found yourself going through all your old notes (I'm talking about the ones you wrote and received in the middle/high school years), wanting to toss them but feeling like somehow you're committing an awful crime? It's like you're looking at the essence of who these people were and are, evidence that they existed in that moment, words that were selected specifically for you.

Writing is powerful. It's humbling.

So, with the security of knowing that I can deconstruct and reconstruct and rearrange and totally recreate my world through writing, I woke up feeling much more like myself this morning, knowing I am never lost inside myself unless I choose to be.

The Juggling Comes to an End Now

Where are You From?

I am from grey carpet
white walls
and black furniture.
Airports and changing time zones,
passports and checked bags,
a family of nomads is where I'm from.

I am from BDU's
and MRE's
and TDY's
and OPSEC
and the DoDEA.

I am from "Yes sir"
and "No running in the house"
and "Don't hit your sister"
and "Happiness is a choice"
and "Have you seen my hamster?"

I am from footpaths to
ship rides to
covered wagons
to a new Dodge Nitro.
England, Denmark, Pacheco, Blanding,
Stuttgart, Wurzberg, Zama, San Angelo,
San Pedro, Sagamihara, Syracuse,
Logan,
Minneapolis is where I'm from.

I am from enchiladas, taco salad
Spaghetti, sloppy joes, ice cream
and sandwiches
Hold the gluten, please.

I am from daddy daughter dates
and perpetual nick names:
Ray, Don, Ron, Jon, Nikki.
I am from long walks across great plains
and longer walks across dangerous deserts.
Pioneers
Soldiers
Unwavering Mothers and Wives
A family of Heroes
That's where I'm from.