Sometimes I talk to myself. My father has a habit of talking to himself, so perhaps I picked that up from him. I’ve heard a number of theories of why people talk to themselves, from ‘they’re more intelligent’ to ‘they’re lonely people.’ But I think the phenomenon is individualistic.
I had a very analytic friend tell me that the reason I talk to myself is because I don’t think what I have to say is important and therefore, afraid of being heard. I scoffed at him and said, “I think you’re reading way too deep into that.”
My other friend who overheard his comment made a face and agreed with me. Talking to myself is not some underlying problem of over self awareness, I thought. But for some reason, the imprint of that conversation stayed with me.
It wasn’t until I started sharing my words (hey there, wink wink) that I realized I was just beginning to find my voice. Granted, when I do talk to myself, I’m not mumbling awesome drops of knowledge that really should be shared with the world. I’m usually saying things like, “Where’d I put my phone.” It’s more of the deeper psychology of what he somehow found dormant in me, perhaps suppressed and disguised as insignificant uttering.
When I first made the decision that I wanted to write, I had to let go of my insecurities and be unapologetic. So naturally, the first thing that I get published is about a fling. My little way of saying, ‘Hello world, this is my life.’ Kind of like proverbial flashing. Baring it, and this is what you get.
Last week I went to Mendocino, a charming coastal town in Nor-Cal. An older man sitting on top of a sharp classic car asked me and my friend if we wanted our numerology charts read. We naturally continued walking but then I remembered I had just been telling someone I was interested in Numerology. And you know, I follow those urges I think are signs, which sometimes leads me into absurdity.
We turned around. The man’s name, who if I remember correctly was called Sadashiva, “Transformation through shedding ignorance,” he said. He handed me a piece of paper with list of points he would cover. The last thing on the list was ‘Master Number.’ He told me I probably wouldn’t have to worry about that because it’s extremely rare and most people are not a master number.
And guess what? I’m not most people, as I told him and he soon found out. Apparently I’m here to help save the world. Wait, what? I was a little concerned about this. And how do I accomplish this? Sadashiva told me through writing. I couldn’t help but feel this was definitely a sign, as I had literally just walked out of the book store with ‘Your Life is a Book.’
I looked at my friend and said, “I better get to work.” Later we joked that I had just realized my super power by a numerologist I had manifested and now I could call myself a sexy superhero, here to save the world with my words.
More importantly, it is the people that say, ‘I’m listening’ which has given me the motivation to be heard. No matter the topic, even if it’s just a sentence that stands out, I’m sharing it with you. So, thank YOU for reading.