Is for the second time in my life, positively, completely, undoubtedly, out of my depth here. Therefore, I’m frightened and in need to find center quickly before I fall not off a cliff or into abyss but am swallowed whole by the black hole and then spitted out of the other end of the universe like a rag doll. I must, hold on, and ground myself before my world collapse in front of my eyes. This is not a child’s play. This is real. And I am, indeed, not in Kansas anymore.

 

Do I have to watch sports, support local sports teams and play golf? Can I just be the hipster me, wear vintage dresses, eat weird food, listen to indie band, go to poetry reading, and hang out in the Mission until wee hours?

When I was twenty, every single weekend it was baseball, basketball, football games, and then golf outing, always golf, never anything else. I voted Republican and spoke only when spoken to. Got dressed up in the evenings, and looked the part. I was the submissive young thing. Therapy is good as it takes us back to the memory lane, and I’m told that we always go back to our roots.  But if we all go back to our roots, where is the progress? And if I have transformed myself over the last many years, why do I, sometimes crave going back to the beginning?

Could we all in fact be two people? The person we try to leave behind is never too far behind, it’s in the shadows, lurking, ready for its return. All it takes is pushing that escape button, then Pandora box opens, the old self gets released, and I was transported back to the beginning. A different type of role awaits  along with the shoes, old attire, old attitude, even the eerily familiar sports lingos being uttered without much thought.

Just like that, readily, comfortably, I was that person again, as if never a day had passed.