A Postcard from Myself

Yesterday I got a postcard from myself.  This is not hypothetical or figuratively speaking. I, actually, got a postcard in the mail from myself yesterday.

For as long as I can remember, and that's a long time, someone has said to me "So go and enjoy yourself."  And every single time someone has said that to me over all these years, I have had no idea what they meant by that.  For me to "enjoy myself" there has to be at least two selves.  Let's call them Self 1 and Self 2.   Self 1 enjoys the company of Self 2.  Self 1 has to be in the mood for company and Self  2 has to be the sort of person to provide  that company. That's the only way that I can see for "me" to "enjoy myself."

Let me explain this in another way.  When our son was two years old and fell down and hurt himself, he would say, "I hurt me."  So then "I" and "me" were different people.  Right? "Me" is the one who is hurting and "I" caused the pain.

Until fairly recent years "I" did not enjoy "myself".  If you knew me, you probably saw me as a likable, reasonably happy and considerate person.  I was friendly and had a keen sense of humor. If you offended me, I would quickly forgive you.  If you cut me off in traffic, I probably wouldn't blow my horn or salute you.  If you were sick and in the hospital, I might come and visit you. If we were friends, you could depend on me to be your friend.  That's the Self 1 you would have known.  The Self 2 that I lived with was demanding and critical. He was  never satisfied with anything I did.  He constantly  told me that I had upset someone and that I needed to be upset until I made it right. If I  went to that person, I often learned s/he was never upset in the first place. But that never stopped Self 2 from suggesting some other fault or failure. So no I couldn't go "enjoy myself."  Myself was constantly under assault. Those "fiery darts" the Bible speaks of are real things.

So I got this postcard from myself yesterday.  I wrote this card to myself back in September at a leadership retreat.  I had completely forgotten about it until it came in the mail.  Here is what "I" said to "me",  "Know who you are. Be who you are. Enjoy who you are."  My sentiment to me made me smile.  It made me smile that of all things I could have written, I wrote these words. And it made me smile that for quite some time all of this has been possible for me.

About twenty-five years ago I met a woman named Beverly who had three distinct personalities. This is not schizophrenia, it's multiple personality disorder. Besides Beverly, she was another female and a male personality.  To make this phenomenon even stranger, these three people didn't know each other. If you attempted to talk to her, you had to figure out quickly who you were talking to. Beverly and the male were nice enough people to be around.  You didn't want to mess with that other female. She was crude, rude and angry. Some years later I ran into Beverly while walking out of my office. I asked her how she was doing. She smiled and said "I'm keeping it together these days, how are you? Are you keeping it together?"

Now, instead of Self 1 and the accuser Self 2, I'm just "me."  And I like "me." The most significant part of my redemption was to realize that I am a human being. And human beings make mistakes. Therefore, it follows that I make mistakes. As much as I don't want to, sometimes I say and do things, for example, that offend people.  I try to make it right. If I can't, that's on them and not on me. I can't help that. Once I realized that,  Self 2 ceased to exist.  He had nothing more to say. And yes as my postcard exhorted, I enjoy being me. "Know who you are."  I am a human being made in the image of God. "Be who you are."  That's easy. I can't be anyone else. "Enjoy who you are."  There's nobody I'd rather be with. That's not being selfish; that works best for both of us.

Another interesting thing about that postcard, I addressed it with an incomplete address.  I'm quite sure that I  got distracted by someone and just didn't finish it.  But you know what?  It got here all the same.  Which is exactly what I've been trying to say. I should have completed the address, but I didn't. And it didn't matter at all.

On my bookshelf is a book my mother gave me my senior year in high school. The book is How to Be Your Own Best Friend by Mildred Newman and Bernard Berkowitz.  Even then she knew I needed help. Look at that title again.  There's more than one person involved, right?  "Me" is a friend of "mine". Somebody needs to write the book about just one person, How to Be. Maybe I started the book with that postcard. It may take two to tango, but even a child can dance.