Voices

Sometimes it seems to me as if my life has been--and probably will continue to be--a series of adventures in losing and finding my own voice. Voices. I know from looking back at my writing from past periods when I felt in touch with my voice, that the voice with which I spoke and wrote then is not the same voice with which I write and speak now. Past voices, such as I can connect with them now, anyway, through a backward-looking lens tinged with either rose or blue or green or purple filters despite my best intentions toward objectivity--though I still recognize a continuity that I mean when I say "myself," they seem a little strange to me now, alien. I feel a little baffled whenever I contemplate this phenomenon, but it also makes sense, and it makes sense that I would feel baffled by it despite it making sense.

I'm not sure I can explain. ( Hidden for length )