It’s me; it’s not you.
Breaking up with ‘Ego’ is harder than you might think.
Kickstart Thursdays. Happy New Year.
Dear Ego,
We’ve been together for a long time. Years. It’s kind of funny, but I don’t remember how we met. Do you? Yes, of course you remember. You remember everything. Details are SO important to you. Am I right?
Let me think back.
It might have been when I was in elementary school. First grade, maybe. You were there, too. Weren’t you? We had Mrs. Bogush. I know it is a strange name, now that I see it printed out.
Before that year, I never really thought much about you. I didn’t know you at all. I just focused on me. Ego didn’t exist. I was happy to play with my stuffed animals, making them pretend dinner with the carrot shavings from my mom’s cooking. Or being an exemplary mother to Pebbles, my plastic doll with the bone in her hair. Remember the Flintstones? Pebbles never grew up, but I did.
Before that year, I was happy to run around our yard, ride my bike in endless circles around the driveway, lay on the grass looking up at clouds. Me and Chris, the neighbor boy, imagined the clouds as characters and scenes from Monday Night at the Movies — movies that we could not watch because they aired after our bedtime.
Those were innocent, carefree years. You must have been with someone else then. Was it my sister? Was it Meg, Chris’ older sister?
But in Mrs. Bogush’s first-grade classroom, you first noticed me. You started flirting. You know, the punch-you-in-the-arm-because-I-like-you-and-I-don’t-know-how-else-to-show-my-affection kind of attention.
Yeah, it hurt a little, but we were just kids. Tough it out! Right?
Later, in fifth grade, you must’ve moved away for a while because that year I flourished again. Mrs. McNutt told the class — the whole damn class — that she thought I would be the first female president. Imagine! Me!
Oh, that’s right. You weren’t there because if you had been, you would have protested. My dear friend Ego prefers to have the praise all for himself.
But you came back the next year. And we’ve been tight ever since.
In middle school, you called me every night. You kept real close tabs on me. You preferred that I not talk about other boys. Or girls, for that matter. You kept me entertained, that’s true. But you also had your own interests. But that was YOUR time, not mine. Not something that we shared.
Sure, there were tears. I felt lonely. But I understood that you needed to get out, stretch your legs. You would share some details with me, but you often said, “You’re not pretty enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re just not powerful enough.”
And I believed you.
I mean, who else could I ask? You had pushed away all of my other friends, like Confidence, Dedication, and Glory. Sure, they’d call me now and then. Usually, they were calling from faraway places. They had moved on. Especially Glory. She went to the Big Apple first, then Hollywood. But now she’s moving to D.C. because we all know that Glory really belongs in government. The White House needs more Glory these days, that’s for sure.
Confidence started writing. Now she’s a well-known published author. She doesn’t even work that much these days. She’s resting on her laurels and her royalties. But she travels a lot. Her fans love to go to her readings, book signings. She’s enjoying her time. Close to retirement.
Confidence was dating for a while. But now she’s married. A great guy. Very supportive. He lets her be her own person. He likes to stand back and watch her work. He does his own thing, too. But truthfully, I don’t even remember what he does. When we hang out, Mr. Confidence lets his wife be the star. It’s sweet.
And Dedication practices medicine. She’s in research. She is working on several important projects these days. She dated for a while, too. But her partners often objected to her long hours. Dedication is so focused and professional. But lately, she’s been talking about a co-worker named Perseverance. You know, after all these years, I think that Dedication is coming out. And with the change in laws, maybe they’ll get married. That’d be awesome.
Dedication has been a fantastic mother, too. Her twins — Commitment and Enthusiasm — are in grad school now. They both want to be doctors, too. And their little brother, Enthusiasm, he’s just starting high school.
What’s that you say? I guess he could have been a change-of-life baby, but it’s not Dedication’s biological child. She adopted him. Enthusiasm was the love-child of Dedication’s longtime live-in partner, Passion, and his first wife, Pleasure. You remember them, right? What a couple. It’s no wonder they didn’t stay together. Too much fire. They fought like warriors.
Enthusiasm is doing well in Dedication’s care. She’s helping him find his gifts.
Speaking of gifts, that last gift that you gave me was so confusing.
A blank journal that you had already written in. I mean, I understand that it’s important to recycle, but there wasn’t any room for me to put down my own thoughts, my reflections.
I read some of yours. You often wrote about me.
The last page, you wrote, “She’s too old to do much more. She let her hair go gray. She doesn’t even bother to wear makeup anymore. What will people think? I already know. She’s a has-been. Nothing.”
Well, Ego, that’s the last straw.
I just don’t care what you think anymore. I want to do what my friends Confidence, Dedication, and Glory have done. I have a positive attitude. Doesn’t that count for something?
I’m sorry, Ego. But it’s the last day of 2020. It’s been a pretty shitty year. You and I have stayed together and I do value your closeness, but I cannot handle your negativity anymore.
I’ve packed up your clothes. I’ll be out tomorrow, so if you want to swing by and pick up that fancy suitcase, you’ll find everything inside.
I already changed the locks. No need to return the key.
You know, it’s kind of funny, but now that I’ve put this all down on paper, I feel better. Relieved, actually.
Ego, you’ll be fine. You always manage on your own. Or you’ll find someone else to hook up with.
But I’ve got to see if I can make it on my own now. Cue the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song!
We met so many years ago. It’s going to be hard. I mean, your image is in ALL of my photos. You are part of my family. Always have been. A shadow of you lingers. But in the future, when we have to be in the same place you and I will enter and leave through separate doors.
I’m tempted to say thank you for keeping me on track all these years, but in reality, I think I could have done a lot more if I wasn’t constantly worrying about what you would think.
I kept your old winter coat. The big navy woolen coat with the button missing? You know, the one with the moth holes? The one you got the first year that we lived in that tiny rental house on the lake. You have plenty of other warmer jackets. So do I. But when it’s time to take out the garbage, I’m going to put on that old coat. Because I don’t have to care about getting schmutz on the cuffs.
If I ever miss you, I can put on that coat and feel the weight of you dragging me down again. Then, I can take it off and hang it in the back of the closet. Out of the way. Out of sight.
What’s that you say? You want the journal back? You want the coat.
Nope. I burned the journal. And I need the coat to remind me never to let you back in my home again.
We’re through. For good. I’m moving on.
It’s me, it’s not you.
Actually, it is you. It’s all about you.
Good bye Ego.
Stockwell is a writer, teacher, and creativity coach. Learn more about her and her journey on her website — www.doyourart.org
