As I am making the last preparations on the food in the kitchen I am feeling a bit nervous. I have invited myself to dinner.
You may think that’s perhaps not such a crazy thing and certainly not something to be nervous about? Well, yes and no. It’s a dinner for me, myself and I. The different “versions” I have been through my life. Who I have been, etc.
There’s not like it will be dozens of me, of course, but I am still surprised about how many that I had to invite. Or rather how many of me I could remember or recall as “different” enough to be considered.. well, different.
The youngest have already arrived. Not to strange perhaps as they have my parents to make sure of that. The older and (more) adult me’s are a different matter. I have had a tendency to be a bit “time optimistic”, you could say. It resulted than more often than not that I was a few minutes late. But it wasn’t always so. The 20 year old me was actually the first one to arrive. Stressed out of being too late, I came 20 minutes too early. 10 year old me sat down at the table a couple of minutes early together with 6 year old me. I looked at myself, thinking at how a weird little kid I used to be. I collected stamps, pressed flowers, made Lego houses for my cats, preferred to read the old Viking sagas instead of books and comics other kids my age read, was had skinned off my hair and had a religious obsession about Robin Hood.
I would wish I didn’t get stranger as I grew older. It was a different kind of strange, but I don’t think it was an improvement. My interests removed me even further from my peers, and I found myself being a quite lonely kid at 14-15. No real friends to speak of, and the friends I did have was not of a very good sort. The biggest difference between my 10-year self and my 15-year self was the look in my eyes. There was something almost hollow to them. They were big, looking and searching constantly around for anything besides other eyes. I also had a wariness about me. An uneasiness that made me almost seem skittish. The older I got, the more “normal” I found myself looking, as if most of these things had been worn off. But I realised I was just high…
I had also gotten better at hiding it all at 20. Wouldn’t appear depressed or mentally ill in any way. No, self-medicating it away was better than confronting these things. I was looking at my 10-year-old self. I looked at me with some puzzlement. I could hear myself thinking “what happened to me?”.
This was kinda the whole point of the get-together. To put a finger in the earth and see how things are going. It was clear to my younger self that things hadn’t been all great all the time. When everyone was in place the lasagna was served. It was a dish I know I have liked my entire life. I used to have it as my birthday dinner for several years. I talked about big and small I had experienced in my life. Talking a walk down memory lane, so to speak. I could see the younger me grew more and more quiet and often very uncomfortable. It was almost as I wasn’t aware of what I had done growing up. And I guess in a way I wasn’t. I was 10. I didn’t understand everything, but I understood enough to realise that this was not how I had envisioned my life to move forward or be.
I could hear myself mutter “idiot” at a couple of things being mentioned, and how I stared at myself as I downed glasses of wine and lit up cigarettes after the dinner.
I was a bit curious about the different views of myself now and myself at 10. I looked at the cigarettes and thought” post-meal cigarettes… I kinda miss that”. I had probably more pleasant memories to look back on than how it looked from a 10-year-old’s perspective. I knew smoking was dangerous and bad for you. It didn’t smell nice and made your teeth yellow. “Idiot”, I heard myself mutter again. And I had to agree with myself.
As the evening carried on I could sense more and more feelings of familiarity being in the room. Regret, feeling stupid, ashamed, and avoiding. Things I have done and felt so much in my adult life. There was anger at myself as well. Another feeling I’m well known to, but it came from a rather unsuspected source. It was me at 10. I stood up, looked at myself and asked with tears in my eyes ,“what happened? What did I get like this for?”
I could see the disappointment and sadness dampening the anger somewhat as I looked each and every one of me in the eyes. I had been so bright and curious and joyful. I had ended up ruining my life, the life of others, not growing up or taking care of myself or my own life. I avoided and hid and lied. All because I wasn’t feeling good enough or talented enough or that I didn’t know how to handle what was given to me. Not believing in myself and the talents I possessed. I threw it all away and became lazy and mediocre. I even had become a bad person.
As I looked in my eyes and saw all of this, I knew how disappointed I was in myself. How I have wasted my life and my opportunities and not done anything I had dreamed about as that weird little kid. I was gonna be a boxer and an archaeologist or a biologist studying wildlife in the forest I loved spending my time in. I had failed myself, and I knew it. I figured it was time to make things up for that kid. As he left, I told him I was sorry about not being what he had hoped I would be. A tear ran down my chin and I muttered “you better… Idiot” and put on my bright red coat and walked out the door.
