Shostakovich Reflections

How do I live my values? Are they right in front of me, a visual guide I rely on? Are they absent, forgotten with only their memory remaining to move me by habit? Are they integrated into me so that I do nothing without their directing thought, word, action?

What combination of these extremes is reality and how do I self discover any focused answer to this vast question?

I am the sum of my many selves. I am shy. I am happy. I am mischievous. I am sorrow. I am light. I am a series of walking contradictions that shy from any set hierarchy except what I artificially enforce. Yet this is who I am and it is good, though confusing, to be me.