Seeing my future self
I saw my future self on the subway: he looked like an older, testosterone-filled version of myself. I tried to sneak surreptitious glances at him, to see how I might look in the future, but I think he noticed because he started staring back. Either that, or he recognized me too, as a past version of himself. We even got off at the same station and headed in the same direction. When I lost sight of him, for a split second, I wished I had asked how he was doing –how we were doing– in life.
Maybe I have been reading too many stories involving Doubles (Borges, Cortázar), but still: wouldn’t it be neat to be able to speak with your future self, to know that you’ll survive the tough parts of your life? (Of course, it could backfire: what if you met the future you and hir life was a mess?)
When I got home, I looked in the mirror, and realized that my “double” and I didn’t look so alike, after all. But it was a strong experience while it lasted. And I’m glad that he looked relatively happy.
I also had a dream in which my father pronounced my new name for the first time. It was set in a very dramatic seaside landscape; I still remember the salty breeze, the texture of the stone wall we sat on, the way he carried me in his arms. Because at one point, he carried me in his arms. I love him so much.
I think I’ve had my head in the clouds lately. It’s kind of nice up here, even though it’s hard to articulate words, ideas or actions in this state of mind.