“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” Those were words written by Walt Whitman. I read them in one of my literary magazines that I recieve monthly, and it really spoke to me. Recently, I have become more comfortable in my own skin. I may not have understood that sentence a decade ago, but now it sings to me. I am who I am and I am okay.
I think that I have always liked writing because I have a chance to backspace and delete. When I am out there on my own answering questions and making comments, I am not always as funny and as insightful. My words don’t run as smoothly as the ones I write and get to read and then decide if I want to keep them on paper or suck them back with the click of a key. You can’t do that once you “speak” the words that you say, they are just plain out there, no sucking back allowed.
In a weird way, I feel the writer part of me is the real me, like washing your face at the end of the day, the core me is beneath the layers that I rinse away, the words I speak are not always from my soul like the ones that rise up in me that cause me to stop and sit and share even after I’ve worked a 10 hour day and have to turn around and do it all again. It is that part of me that finds that being rich is in the million words still inside of my soul that are there for the taking or the giving.
“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself.” It is all so simple and yet wildly powerful in the accepting of ourselves. In a way it is like being born again when you finally reach that place where you are comfortable in your own skin.