I’ll start this post by saying I’m aware of Freud’s theory of the Ego, the Superego and the Id, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve read it and I’m not drawing on it consciously here.
But I have been spending a lot of time figuring out me, myself and I. Lately I’ve come to believe that these are separate, if overlapping and interdependent parts of the person I am. It’s a semantic challenge to talk about, but it goes like this:
Me is the plain human male, seeking the plain human things of this world – food, sex, warmth, heat, gasoline, Blue Rodeo albums, a digital camera, and something from Ikea to keep my shoes tidy. Me is dumb, but decent enough, mostly, and his motivations are clear. Yes, he thinks about women all the time. Yes, he barbeques inordinately often. Yes , he builds stuff compulsively and drives all over the place marking territory. But that’s me.
Myself, on the other hand, is completely interior. I don’t think anyone but me knows him, and me mostly hates him. Myself is like a dark echo, some kind of ghost in the machine that was generated when me became aware of me. That’s typical of me, to go and invent a bogeyman and then not be able to get away from the little bastard. Stupid me for doing that; I get the sense it’s my own fault myself is a jerk.
Then there’s I. I can see me, watch me and even love me, for all my shortcomings. I can stay calm and silent in the face of all that distresses me. I even can give a stern lecture to myself, and it’s occasionally pretty effective. I’m eternal. I’m at peace. I’m in tune.
Now, if only me and myself could quit the endless questing and questioning, I could get on with my life.