Life is a conversation with yourself.

I like knowing things. I like it when I know more things than you and I can teach you exactly what I know so that you can spring the domino effect. I become a teacher with a 1000 students. I like when you know more things than me because you are helping me to expand the knowledge I can never have enough of in this world that keeps bloating with more information each day.

It’s like being thirsty.

You can keep drinking and drinking and drinking until you are filled to the brim. But the next day, you can (and should!) always come back for more.

That’s why I appreciate myself so much. I am an enigma, a maze that constantly changes paths. My whole life is the pattern of a star. From birth, I emerged from a nebula, twinkling and growing several thousand times larger than even my thoughts could comprehend.

I grew into a main sequence star and at this point, I knew how to handle whatever life could throw at me. I wasn’t growing in size anymore, but rather only in the mental and emotional state. Everything was old and familiar but the way I responded to life changed with every new emotion.

From here, I could swell to the red giant phase but I’m not sure yet if I have left the previous category. After all, when does anyone ever stop changing? Every new experience takes us farther than the person we were before. Even as I typed this, I have changed and come up with new metaphors, I’ve learned more about my personal writing habits, I discovered that I hit the space bar quite loud and violently, and I’ve become more patient with my puppy as she is learning not to chew on my shoelaces (*insert pause as the adorable monster is disentangled once more*)…

It’s so good to try and know oneself but how well can you, really?

Here I am, pondering my future life choices and what exactly I what to do with my life, what is non-negotiable and what I can live without. Today I like toast and black coffee but tomorrow I will want Earl Grey and eggs. I love the variety of life but routine is my companion.

If I can’t even decide on breakfast, how can I make decisions about my future?

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The stranger sees us as we are, not as he wishes to think we are.

If you saw me on the street, would you know that I’m OCD about chipped nail polish?

If you stood in line behind me at the coffee shop as we both waited to get our caffeine fix, would you know that I have a chronic burn on my tongue because I’m impatient when it comes to drinking coffee?

If you sat next to me in class, would you know that I refuse to leave any ragged edges on my paper when I rip it out of my notebook?

If you held your hand out to stop the elevator, would you know that I actually enjoyed elevator music?

If you glimpsed my shadow cowered behind the shelves in the library, would you know that I collect old books — not for the value, but simply for their covers and their smell?

If you parked your car right next to mine, would you know that I got a flat tire on the curb of my high school parking lot the very first time I tried to drive?

Even if you did know all of these things, how would you know those things don’t change? How would you anticipate that they do? I’m flighty as the wind but steady as a flame. One is stronger with the other. Would a stranger see all these things about me?

And the real question is: would I want them to?