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I have a note on my desk that says PENCIL, TWEEZERS, OWEN: SOCK. I can only assume this was the worst grocery list in the history of the world, or maybe notes from a game of “I Spy” that I do not remember playing? Who can say, really.
This is me. I am less a “person who is on top of all the things” and more “a person who keeps inexplicable collections of words that I do not remember writing.” I probably won’t put that on a business card, but it is more or less true.
I’m keeping track of the things that are important to me and also sometimes forgetting why I thought they were important. Pencils and tweezers.
My friend Colby was talking the other day about the idea of coming fully alive: about how to be more of your true self, and how to rely less on the other identities you construct for yourself—the ones you use to cover over your pain or your fear or your shame or your general sense of unworthiness. You know, little things like that.