"I Contain Multitudes"

shellisue
1 day ago
4 min read

Earlier this summer we got some milkweed plants and placed them outside our bedroom window. Before your eyes glaze over with boredom, stay with me.

We bought these plants to attract butterflies. And who doesn’t want more butterfly sightings?

Sure enough, a butterfly laid her eggs on a milkweed plant and produced—by our count—nine caterpillars. Hungry ones, at that.

A few weeks later, a tiny chrysalis hung from a nearby leaf. Then others appeared. Was it happening? Would we be able to observe a complete butterfly life cycle?

A couple of the chrysalises didn’t progress. But most did.

The butterflies hatched!

I caught on camera the exact moment one of the butterflies took its first flight. And as it did, my own heart flitted about with joy. (Video on my Instagram page.)

Nothing stays stagnant in nature; it’s always changing, always finding new ways to thrive.

Every good transformation story begins with a caterpillar-to-butterfly metaphor. And well, that’s me. Always transforming and making myself into something new.

The 10-years-ago Shelli would never recognize me now. Just as I hope the 10-years-from-now Shelli will look back and marvel at the evolution.

For me, metamorphosis hasn’t happened just once, but many times. Time passes, something hits me—for good or ill—and I go into chrysalis mode.

Usually, I emerge with new hobbies and interests. Side quests, if you will. This time around, I can’t seem to keep up with everything I want to do and learn.

Maybe it’s a midlife thing, but there seems to be more of an urgency to use my time wisely. (Frantically?)

On top of that, sometimes the metamorphosis seems to be too much, and I don’t quite recognize myself, like the pattern on my wings is different now, or that I have to re-learn how to fly.

Like…who am I in this season?

Back in college, I would’ve SPRINTED to see The Odyssey. We’re talking the midnight showing of opening day. But as of this moment, I haven’t seen it. It’s not that I don’t want to. I will, but the desire to get first dibs on all things scholarly and literary is not as primal as it used to be.

The weight of these two frustrations had me in a near tailspin: Not enough time to indulge in all my interests AND my interests keep changing—how do I keep up?

Then a whisper from the poet, Walt Whitman, came to my ear:

“I contain multitudes.”

These words appear in his poem “Song of Myself” to say that humans are vast and complex. They’re full of surprises, contradictions, and metamorphoses. This doesn’t make them false; it makes them human.

Indeed, I am more than one thing. I am unpredictable. I follow my heart. I astonish even myself.

My changing hobbies, interests, and side quests are proof that I am alive, that I am curious, and that I refuse to accept my own evolution as complete.

As Alice in Wonderland said, "It's no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then."

Even long-held beliefs about who I am can shift and change.

Ten years ago, you couldn’t have told me with any degree of seriousness that future me would wear Barbie-themed (or Goth-themed) attire and sing karaoke at a bar with my friend Lily who I met at a dance club.

Or that I'd taste the local wines in Italy.

(My friend, Julie:

Always remember to Experience

Wonder &

Savor)

Or that I'd get matching/complementary tattoos with frister Megan.

(Inspo from a Taylor Swift lyric about childhood friendship.

"Love you to the moon and to Saturn." She got the moon and I got Saturn.)

Or that I’d embrace Disney Bounding. (Wearing character-themed outfits to the Disney parks.)

OK, this one was completely predictable.

Why do I share all this? I don’t entirely know.

One of the major themes of my blog—and my life—is about forging one's own path and being brave enough to live an unexpected life. Being willing to be called loco, cringe, or unconventional by others and even yourself.

In other words, don’t get too comfy, because if you’re like me, the ride is going to be unpredictable and bumpy.

With every new level unlocked, I feel like shouting it. Yet I feel like hiding, too. To be honest, I don't crave being in the spotlight. All those judgments I imagine others are dishing out at me, I'm dishing out at myself. But I also refuse to hide in the shadows.

Again, multitudes.

I have to allow the full version of myself to be visible. Being cringe. Being contradictory. Being unexpected. Maybe it will encourage someone—even one person—to lean into the weirdness of who they truly are in order to be fully seen.

And if it’s presumptuous to imagine I’d influence anyone to do something they wouldn’t have otherwise done, then I suppose watching me make a fool of myself is also a valid reason to keep your eye on me. Either way, I kind of refuse to tone it down.

Perhaps all the shifting has brought on some collateral damage.

My book-writing muse must be on hiatus. She has abandoned me! Every time I attempt to write my sequel, I become stymied, cursed. It feels more sustained than writer's block, and this heavy thought has crossed my mind:

Do I even want to write books anymore?

The sting I feel typing those words is real. The identity I had imagined for myself as a novelist was real.

No need to panic, right? Life isn’t over until you take your last breath. I still have my blog and my ability to form coherent sentences and thoughts. Until my storytelling muse returns, I’ll keep wordsmithing where I can.

I’ll keep my lantern out in front of me, knowing that the light only shines a few steps ahead.

And folks, these days I’m teasing out a completely new thing on my path that I nearly stumbled over. A complete plot twist. More on that in the future.

I know! As if I need more things. But instead of berating myself for being a person containing multitudes, I’ll go with it.

And I think you should, too.

Mr. Whitman wrote his poem “Song of Myself” ironically, for everyone. There's no gatekeeping his whimsy.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Let’s take his approach. Go and be multitudinous.

Earlier this summer we got some milkweed plants and placed them outside our bedroom window. Before your eyes glaze over with boredom, stay with me.

We bought these plants to attract butterflies. And who doesn’t want more butterfly sightings?

Sure enough, a butterfly laid her eggs on a milkweed plant and produced—by our count—nine caterpillars. Hungry ones, at that.

A few weeks later, a tiny chrysalis hung from a nearby leaf. Then others appeared. Was it happening? Would we be able to observe a complete butterfly life cycle?

A couple of the chrysalises didn’t progress. But most did.

The butterflies hatched!

I caught on camera the exact moment one of the butterflies took its first flight. And as it did, my own heart flitted about with joy. (Video on my Instagram page.)

Nothing stays stagnant in nature; it’s always changing, always finding new ways to thrive.

Every good transformation story begins with a caterpillar-to-butterfly metaphor. And well, that’s me. Always transforming and making myself into something new.

The 10-years-ago Shelli would never recognize me now. Just as I hope the 10-years-from-now Shelli will look back and marvel at the evolution.

For me, metamorphosis hasn’t happened just once, but many times. Time passes, something hits me—for good or ill—and I go into chrysalis mode.

Usually, I emerge with new hobbies and interests. Side quests, if you will. This time around, I can’t seem to keep up with everything I want to do and learn.

Maybe it’s a midlife thing, but there seems to be more of an urgency to use my time wisely. (Frantically?)

On top of that, sometimes the metamorphosis seems to be too much, and I don’t quite recognize myself, like the pattern on my wings is different now, or that I have to re-learn how to fly.

Like…who am I in this season?

The weight of these two frustrations had me in a near tailspin: Not enough time to indulge in all my interests AND my interests keep changing—how do I keep up?

Then a whisper from the poet, Walt Whitman, came to my ear:

“I contain multitudes.”

These words appear in his poem “Song of Myself” to say that humans are vast and complex. They’re full of surprises, contradictions, and metamorphoses. This doesn’t make them false; it makes them human.

Indeed, I am more than one thing. I am unpredictable. I follow my heart. I astonish even myself.

My changing hobbies, interests, and side quests are proof that I am alive, that I am curious, and that I refuse to accept my own evolution as complete.

As Alice in Wonderland said, "It's no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then."

Even long-held beliefs about who I am can shift and change.

Ten years ago, you couldn’t have told me with any degree of seriousness that future me would wear Barbie-themed (or Goth-themed) attire and sing karaoke at a bar with my friend Lily who I met at a dance club.

Or that I'd taste the local wines in Italy.

(My friend, Julie:

Always remember to Experience

Wonder &

Savor)

Or that I'd get matching/complementary tattoos with frister Megan.

(Inspo from a Taylor Swift lyric about childhood friendship.

"Love you to the moon and to Saturn." She got the moon and I got Saturn.)

Or that I’d embrace Disney Bounding. (Wearing character-themed outfits to the Disney parks.)

OK, this one was completely predictable.

Why do I share all this? I don’t entirely know.

One of the major themes of my blog—and my life—is about forging one's own path and being brave enough to live an unexpected life. Being willing to be called loco, cringe, or unconventional by others and even yourself.

In other words, don’t get too comfy, because if you’re like me, the ride is going to be unpredictable and bumpy.

With every new level unlocked, I feel like shouting it. Yet I feel like hiding, too. To be honest, I don't crave being in the spotlight. All those judgments I imagine others are dishing out at me, I'm dishing out at myself. But I also refuse to hide in the shadows.

Again, multitudes.

I have to allow the full version of myself to be visible. Being cringe. Being contradictory. Being unexpected. Maybe it will encourage someone—even one person—to lean into the weirdness of who they truly are in order to be fully seen.

And if it’s presumptuous to imagine I’d influence anyone to do something they wouldn’t have otherwise done, then I suppose watching me make a fool of myself is also a valid reason to keep your eye on me. Either way, I kind of refuse to tone it down.

Perhaps all the shifting has brought on some collateral damage.

My book-writing muse must be on hiatus. She has abandoned me! Every time I attempt to write my sequel, I become stymied, cursed. It feels more sustained than writer's block, and this heavy thought has crossed my mind:

Do I even want to write books anymore?

The sting I feel typing those words is real. The identity I had imagined for myself as a novelist was real.

No need to panic, right? Life isn’t over until you take your last breath. I still have my blog and my ability to form coherent sentences and thoughts. Until my storytelling muse returns, I’ll keep wordsmithing where I can.

I’ll keep my lantern out in front of me, knowing that the light only shines a few steps ahead.

And folks, these days I’m teasing out a completely new thing on my path that I nearly stumbled over. A complete plot twist. More on that in the future.

I know! As if I need more things. But instead of berating myself for being a person containing multitudes, I’ll go with it.

And I think you should, too.

Mr. Whitman wrote his poem “Song of Myself” ironically, for everyone. There's no gatekeeping his whimsy.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Let’s take his approach. Go and be multitudinous.

Comments