I said “I want to lose myself in you, in this.” Is that what frightens people? Because I wish it didn’t. I wish there weren’t people out there who are afraid of that desire, protective in a way that I do not need. I think that they are afraid that the loss is a bad thing, or that I won’t be able to find myself again. Maybe the problem is in the language.
What do I mean when I say I want to lose myself? I think this is the crux of the issue. I mean I want to lose the neurotic perfectionism that hounds me. I want to lose my fear that I am not enough, I want to lose the painful memories that live at the edges of every moment. I want to “shuffle off this mortal coil,” but only temporarily. But is that really losing “myself?” When I have cast off all the external trappings of my daily life, what is left?
All those things that make me who I am － my brilliance, my insecurity, my past, my hopes and fears for the future － when they are gone what is left? Only here and now and what is happening in this moment. I wish I could find the words to explain how this feels, but I don’t. Maybe language is too much a part of this external self, too closely tied to what I want to let go. Maybe that is why it is hard from me to put it into words. The closest I can come is this: I do not want to lose myself because I am running or hiding from something. And I am not lost forever, I will always come back. But when I am there, when I am gone I am also coming home. I lose myself so I can find myself.