The running commentary by the voice in my head has always been a part of me, and perhaps the one thing that has singled out my existence. None of my childhood friends commented on their own voices, so I don’t know if they heard them or not. However, I never commented on my own, so they didn’t know I had a voice or what it observed about the world seen through my eyes.
I always pictured the embodied voice sitting in the driver’s seat, the cockpit of my head looking through the windscreen of my eyes. It saw everything within range of my ever-turning head. I was simply the vehicle for observing, and I never knew for sure if the voice turned my head and body using controls at hand, or if it was just a front seat passenger willing to go wherever I took it, but frankly, I didn’t feel in control most of the time.
This made for very tenuous relationships as those around me moved with sure steps in directions they chose while I hesitated, evaluated, and chose paths that guarded the identity of the driver in charge. It was, I thought, the safe course of action, but in time I found it separated me from those I truly wanted to emulate.
As I look back on the whole scene from the safety of age, I think perhaps the voice in my head could have been more forceful, more dominant, more aggressive. It could have told me what to do instead of simply making observations about the options open to me. But then maybe that wasn’t its purpose, its function. Maybe the voice was in my head to show me that the reality I sought was already within me, that I am truly the author of my own destiny, the writer of my own story.
And now, finally, the voice says, it’s time to write that story!