She wondered about me, about the side of my personality which seemed sensitive; rare, she said, in persons who had “so much going for them.”
“Hum-m-m?” Are there really two sides of my being? Is one the more…real, the other some reflex or reflection?
Am I truly scared, fragile, but cover this up with the spit and polish of old shoes made to look good? Am I truly two, my being a wavering marriage between the one who is strong and the one who appears?
I told her that my life had many humbling aspects, earlier and still, wondering at the same time how things would go in the future, like the possibility of sickness in myself or family or friends; that I would be captivated by my own desires trailing me into some land of never-ever; that I would lose grounding, or be ground-down by the flailing forces of power within which I was another mere cipher.
Maybe, I thought, I love action, and suffering in a firm and graspable present, a way of being which is gripping. Maybe, I thought, I love suffering, and will go to any lengths to pursue its possibilities.
More, I guess, I too have difficulty finding and retaining meaning in my life, and have learnt to search in all the directions which experience and imagination show me, hoping to do well, fearing that it may all go badly.