Yesterday, I listened to YouTube relaxy piano music as I was writing. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know composers. If ever I reference classical music, all I’m capable of is shouting what it advertises.

“Those babies. Shitting. You know. The nappies one. You’ve seen it. Dut du du durrr duuuurr…” Etcetera.

So again, I didn’t notice the composer. But I did notice a three word comment beneath the dreamy composition.

“I miss myself”.

The music was calm. Reflective. So such a comment is not surprising, I suppose. It’s short, personal tone made me pause.

“I miss myself”.

It made me think about different versions of me. Why each began. Why each ended. Then, I asked myself which ‘myself’ I missed most.

Just as interesting as exploring the me’s I missed, was recalling why they came and went. It was almost always because I allowed myself to be affected by what someone else did or didn’t do, say or turn out to be. (I’ve read that back. It’s right).

Life is better, I think, when I am my unaffected self. That’s the me I miss most.

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