I am my own best friend. I am my own worst nightmare.

I am kind to myself. I am very critical of myself.

I think about who I was.

I think about who I am.

I think about who I want to be.

These days, I find myself playing with the many versions of myself that have existed.

The self that sits on the floor cutting up newspaper in pjs. The self that sits properly at the kitchen table, zooming into classes, earrings and make up on.

The self that sits in bed for hours reading. The self that believes the bed only is only for sleeping and rest.

The self that likes country music. The self that definitely doesn’t like country music.

The self that eats the 80 cal salad for dinner to allow for the 800 cal desert. The self that eats a 600 cal dinner and 60 cal chocolate bar.

The self that drinks a lot of coffee. The self that switches sometimes to tea.

The self that does yoga by memory, listening to breathe and flowing. The self that tunes into yoga teacher’s zoom classes during lunch time.

The self that draws, doodles, creates art. The self that doesn’t have time for art.

The walking self, smelling the flowers. The wondering self, thinking about nature.

There are so many versions of me. So many that you have seen and interacted with.

I keep changing her. And spending time by myself, I get to play with her and who she is, who she was, and who she will become.