Meeting Myself

I bumped into myself today

I am looking well

A little bit of extra weight perhaps

I noticed I’d had a recent haircut

It is very neat

Was I not going to go for something

More uncontrolled?

I am a creature of habit.

Wasn’t it my birthday last week?

I don’t ask myself for numbers

I told myself about the coffee meetup with friends

I surprise myself sometimes at

How sociable I can be.

Carrot cake? It’s always carrot cake

And a pot of tea

I asked myself how my university course was going

Creative Writing, yes?

I confessed to myself that it was getting tough

Have I read the Illad, I asked myself

No, I replied.

We did not talk about school and what

I learned and didn’t learn

Because of the class I was in.

It is on Spotify, if I want to listen to it.

And the knitting? I asked

I told myself about the Tunisian crocheting hooks

I am keen to start playing with them

But there are other project to finish first

Ah, I said

I never was one for completing things, was I?

I laughed with myself about the half-knitted baby cardigan.

I glanced at my watch

The number 5 bus was due

I hugged myself and said I must dash

Don’t be a stranger, I said

As I turned away

I met myself a few weeks back. Up until then I had been busy. There was no conversation at mealtimes. Breakfast was spooned into the mouth by one hand while the other was thumb-scrolling down Facebook posts. The iron was spitting steam and hissing heat as I watched the another puzzle piece fall into place in a who-done-it. My husband’s theory on these things is it always turns out to be the famous actor in an understated role. Not this time though.

I met myself somewhere between 11 o’clock and midday on a Tuesday. You could call it new age if you like. An elemental relaxation class on zoom with an intriguing envelope of art materials. There was a compass in the pack and north for me points to the corner of the kitchen where the pantry meets the fridge. South is a bookcase. West is the cooker and east is a vegetable rack in the corner hijacked by bird seed and suet balls.

I met myself playing with a blue plastic prickly massage ball. My left foot has always been a wee bit bigger than my right. It turned out to be much more sensitive too. I missed much of what was said and done after because I was tying the laces on my shoes. The ball did a once over most body parts and woke up the sluggish stuff on the outside.

Yes, I met myself. I blew a feather. I breathed in slowly.

And somewhere in it all, I met myself and said, ‘Hello.’

It is all to easy in the flurry and the hurry, the scurry and the worry of the day-in day-out routine to lose touch with ourselves. We become strangers to ourselves and we suddenly we spot ourselves in a mirror and come face to face with someone who looks a little bit like us, but probably isn’t us.

A feather and a blue plastic massage ball might help in the meeting of yourself. A stroll along a path. Watching birds chitter and chatter as they bathe one another in a puddle. It is when you slow down you meet yourself.

Find yourself your way and say, ‘Hello.’