From a Coma, I Awaken


Coming to, now…

Pushing the reset button.

I suffer from the kind of inner critic that loves to say, “Just who do you think you are? You know, no one really cares what you have to say about yourself.” 

It’s terrible, the kinds of things we say to ourselves. If a friend of mine was feeling this way, I’d divert their critic’s attention: “Hey, look! It’s Simon Cowell! He’s looking at you…he so totally wants you!”


"How you doin'?"

“How you doin’?”


And while the two were becoming enraptured with one another, I’d take my friend by the hand and go running down the street, laughing as we go.

However, when it’s your own inner bully…damn, they’re smart…they know all the right buttons to push. It’s annoying. Seriously? Again? I thought you lost my address, you SOB! As with any aspect of yourself, you can’t get rid of it. Everything, all of it, makes you, you. Reject any part of you, and inner havoc ensues. Outer havoc, too, depending on how you manifest that rejection.

We all feel pain, loss, anger, fear, love. It’s the human experience. And at the same time, each and every one of us is unique. There is no one else IN THE WORLD that has had the same exact experiences that you’ve had with your same psychological and emotional perspective. Nature and nurture, combined. I think that is pretty awesome.

(However, if you’ve met your mirror self, will you contact me? I have a lot of questions for you. And a dart gun. I absolutely need to study you. You think I’m kidding? Only about the dart gun. Well, it’s not really a gun because I don’t like guns. I’m old school. It’s actually one of those bamboo dart-thingeys. And you don’t go fully under. You’re just stunned enough to honestly answer all of my curious inquiries. I stun myself all of the time, so I know what I’m doing.)

If I could, I would love to take our singular awesomenesses and walk/skip/run/march/amble/dance down the street with you. Maybe stop and grab a coffee/beer/green tea/boba/glass of wine with you. Hang out. Chill. Talk about whatever we want to talk about. Because I can’t do this in person – don’t you dare suggest Skype-ing – what I can do is write. I have a voice. What you do with it is up to you. Listen, not listen, nod or scratch your head… Your opinion belongs to you. There’s room for all of it.

Besides, I can only control so much. Unless you allow yourself to be darted. Ah, in a perfect world…



I'd love to hear from you. I don't bite. It's more like a gentle gnawing on your ankle.

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