All These Places

There was a time when I lived two lives.  There was the woman that knew exactly what she was doing and she was the one that I took out to parties to mingle with near strangers.  She was the one that attended my ten year college reunion and spent time with neighbors back home.   Then there was the woman who woke up some nights in complete fear and distrust of herself.  She spent time alone listening to sad music turned up loud.  Sometimes these two women got in vicious fights, yelling at each other, both perched on a shoulder.

                I know there’s a way to make them reconcile.

                When I lived in Aspen, I tried on every job title for size, to see how it would sound when I told people what I was doing.  “Loan Assistant.”  Yep, that sounds pretty important and respectful.  Meanwhile, in my head I would tell myself that I was a “banker” and then shake my head, wondering what exactly I was thinking.

                I know that it wasn’t only old high school classmates that I was trying to reassure when I told them that I knew exactly what I was doing.  I was trying to reassure myself.  But meanwhile, that silly woman who listened to sad music would yell something about hope and confidence and trust.  I know that there’s a way to have them meet in the middle.

                That middle ground is a place where I don’t feel like I’m lying when I am not exactly telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  It’s recognizing that there is room for a little doubt, room for bumps in the road.  And that the sooner I can accept that in myself, the better it will be for all of those that come in contact with me.  It will be a confidence that will exude even if the confidence is in the fact that though I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, I know that I can get there someday.