I have, in the past, been criticized for being egotistical and narcissistic (and even if you've never brought it directly to my attention, you might have thought it), but I don't believe I am any more self-absorbed than anyone else (although I probably express it more often). Shouldn't we be the most interesting people in the world to ourselves? When you get right down to the real nitty gritty, we're the only thing we've got that can't be lost.
I am fascinated by my own thoughts. The intricate layers of thinking: the concurrency of the song running through my head, the imagined conversation, and the memory. How can the present, past, and future exist simultaneously in my brain?
My body is also fascinating to me. The way it looks and the things it does, the things it is capable of doing. I very frequently feel like an interloper in this bag of flesh and bones and blood. How is this body so intrinsically entwined with who I am in my entirety? This thing that bruises and bleeds and breaks and heals all on its own. (And don't forget aging, the way the body weakens and softens and wizens.)
In a crowd, at a club, I am invisible, unnoticed, looking out at the world from a face that does not belong to me, or to the essence of me. I feel awkward standing still. What do I do with my hands? (Is this why we hold bottles of beer at concerts? To give ourselves something to do that makes us feel less ungainly? Am I the only one who feels this disconnect?) That feeling of looking out, which suggests that there is something in.
I like taking pictures of my body parts, itemizing them, cataloging. Here is my navel, here are my breasts, my hips, my legs, my hands. Here are my bruises; here is my blood. Here is my face, this thing I will never see except in reflections. I cannot take a photograph of the in, so here are photographs of the out.
I can't help that I am the most interesting person in the world, to me, and I can't stop trying to figure myself out. Understanding of one's self leads to an understanding of others, and an understanding of others leads to an understanding of the world (or so we hope). So forgive me my self-absorbed musings and memories. I appreciate your indulgence, and I sincerely hope that you are the most interesting person in the world to you.
