Ready or not Part 2 (the self dances and sings)

I had been freaking out. My self was approaching and I wasn't so sure about how she looked. Actually, she looked just fine- all confident and comfortable with herself- but I was scared about what she was doing, who she was. It didn't help that I stayed for service that morning at the zen center. As we were chanting, I zoomed out away from myself and saw myself: kneeling on a tatami mat, chanting Japanese syllables that will never mean anything to me.
"This is what you do on a Saturday morning while everyone else is asleep?"
I started crying. I started freaking out. But then I told myself to be silent and still and I just sat with it. And then it was hard to read the chant book through my tears so I told myself to get it together and get back to chanting so I did.
After oryoki, I headed over to the East Bay for my class on Being Mindful and White. When I got off the BART I checked my watch. When I realized I got there early, I decided to walk up and down Telegraph to scope out a place for lunch. Then I laughed at myself: for all your work around "letting go of time," you're still a clock watcher, and for all your awareness of your fears about what to "do" in social situations, you're still afraid of showing up early, of that unstructured social interaction in which you think you might "fail."
"Huh," I thought. "I guess I'm still me."
The class was good but it was hard for me to focus because I was still freaking out about who I was. I had my oryoki bowls with me and it was hilarious to watch myself with them. They were on the top of my backpack and so I had to take them out to get stuff at the bottom. And, honestly, I wanted people to see my oryoki bowls. I wanted them to say "Oooh, look at her, she can do oryoki!"
When the facilitator asked how many people in the room were new to meditating and then lead them in a guided meditation, I pompously sat down on a cushion and did my own meditation, feeling all experienced with my posture and my ability to just focus on the breath.
"Dude!" I thought. "How come you cry about chanting but you're all show offy about meditating? What's your deal? Are you into this or not?"
And I didn't know the answer, and I started to think about what it would be like if I did this all the time, if I, like carried my oryoki bowls around or something, if, I, like were a student at the zen center or if I, like, became someone like Blanche some day.
And then I totally freaked out and took a deep breath and focused on what the teacher was saying instead of what was coming up for me.
By the time lunch rolled around, that whole freak out had mostly passed. It didn't feel so pressing or urgent or monumental for me. I walked across the street to Ike's Lair- the Oakland version of that amazing sandwich shop in the Mission. I ordered my meatless meatball sub and a red velvet cakelet and I was totally looking forward to them. There were metal lunch boxes on the wall from the seventies and I was feeling all nostalgic and happy for my childhood. Then that eighties song came on- that one that goes "Oh you.... You make my dree eeams come true...oooh ooh,  ooh ooh, ooh ooh, ooh ooh , ooh ooh" And I totally sang along, and I danced along, in Ike's Lair, around all the strangers ordering their sandwiches.
And then I zoomed out again, and I saw myself doing this and I saw that that was okay, it was okay to sing and dance in Ike's sandwich shop. Singing and dancing in a sandwich shop doesn't preclude me from bowing and chanting in a zen temple. What I saw, and this is scary for me, is that all of that is me. That person who gets up on a Saturday morning and goes to the zen center to meditate, that person who stays for service and soji because it's as close as she can get to sesshin for now, that's me. And the person who tries really hard not to check her watch but does anyway, the person who walks alone up and down Telegraph 'cause she's afraid about what to do when you get there early, that's me too. That person who talks about her experiences around racism and how meditation and Buddhism is helping her with that, that's me, and I have wisdom and experience around it. And that person, who sings and dances to Hall and Oats around complete strangers, that's me too.
All of this is me. It's a bizarre mix, but it isn't a giving up of one in exchange for another. I can coexist with all these parts of myself. They aren't separate from each other. And also, I don't have actually have a choice in this matter. This is who I am, I can't help it. Well, actually, I've tried, I've been trying for the last year and a half to run away from these parts of myself, to show how much this is not me. But all it's done is made me sad and confused and lonely.
This isn't, like, all good. I'm still not settled about this. I'm still not happy about chanting and bowing on a Saturday morning. But the only time I'm not happy about it is when I do that zooming out thing- when I see myself from a distance, when I see myself from some "other" person's point of view. I don't know who that other person is, that person that sometimes gives me insight but other times labels me with judgment and doubt. Oh, great, maybe she's part of all of me too. Guess I'll just have to accept her along with the rest of me...