Who Me?

Recently, I was on a cleaning spree.  By the time I got around to the garage I was going full speed ahead.  I wasn't showing any mercy for old stuff that had been sitting in the same space since we moved in the house seven and a half years ago.  I had three stacks - one was for the disabled vets where I send all my usable discarded clothing; one was for a garage sale I was having on Saturday morning (I'd be up by 5:00 a.m. organizing that - what a glutton for punishment); and, there was the biggest heap, the one going out in the trash - I debated on calling the trash company to tell them to bring a bigger truck this week!  I came across a box of papers which I started sorting through.  I almost trashed the whole box but then something caught my attention.  An article in an old newspaper was marked off with a highlighter and I decided to sit down with a cup of coffee and see what it was about.  Almost immediately I experienced a sense of deja vu.  The writing had a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor which made me smile, but there was something haunting about the subject matter.  As I continued to read I tried to sort this out in the back of my mind - why had I kept this paper?  This was something headed for the trash pile.  Finally, I finished the piece and to my surprise noticed the author's name at the bottom.  It was me.  Well, I finally knew why I saved it, I just wondered why I didn't recognize the article as being mine from the start.  Had I changed so much over the seven years since I wrote this?  Why didn't I "hear" my own voice and know immediately that I was the author.  Well, the newspaper article was spared from the trash pile and didn't wind up in one of the other two piles either.  It was sort of a Back to the Future feeling.  I finally concluded that I hadn't just found some of my old writing, I had sort of run into myself from the past -- how I was thinking and feeling when I was seven years younger.  I liked that writer.  She was kind of funny when she wrote that piece.  Hopefully my writing has changed as I have.  After all, I'm older, more mature, I've learned a lot (hopefully) since then.  I wondered if all writers would have some difficulty recognizing themselves in their older work or is it like the rest of our self image -- something which comes crashing in at times when we really look at ourselves.  I am reminded of when I had cataract surgery a few years ago.  After the anesthesia wore off, I was sent to the dressing room to change back to my street clothes so I could go home.  Still a little groggy, I dressed slowly and proceeded to sit down for a minute to tie my shoes.  The nurses came running when they heard me scream from the dressing room, thinking I must have fallen in my post-surgery state.  The problem was that the hospital had put a mirror in the dressing room.  Not a good idea for post-surgery cataract patients - I hadn't really "seen" myself for years.  Where did I get those wrinkles and those bags under my eyes?  I wasn't the me I thought I was.  It was definitely something to think about.