Finding oneself seems to imply we are lost or at least not discovered. But we’re right here, impossibly hidden from our own existence.
My eyes scan my landscape less when I’m tired, distracted, or numbed. I search for myself least when I’m busy, chasing down checkboxes.
The world was spinning so quickly I had to ask it to stop. It obliged, begrudgingly.
Today I felt spaciousness in the space between seconds. I strolled through the corridors of my mind and looked through windows of who I could become.
Feeling found seems much like feeling full, full of knowing, feeling, and being all at once.
