Stephen Mejias

Kelli often catches me staring into a mirror. "Checking yourself out again?" she asks.

Honest, baby, I ain't vain. I don't know what it is. Seriously, I don't even know what I'm looking at / for half the time. I'm just looking. I've been this way forever. I remember when I was maybe four or five years old, waking up in the middle of the night, walking into the small green bathroom, closing the door behind me, standing in front of the tall, gold-trimmed mirror, and just looking. And looking.

I used to enjoy watching myself cry. Sorry if that sounds weird or dramatic. It's just that I especially liked the way the greens stood out against the reddening whites. That's all. Maybe I also liked to stare my sadness in the face and watch as it melted away.

On the train to work this morning, coming from the Lower East Side, I noticed that everyone around me — everyone I could see — looked somehow the same. I wondered if I looked the same to them, too. And I thought about the entry I posted yesterday. At the heart of that entry, I think, is something about the state or condition of being an editor. As opposed to, say, a Major League baseball player. Or anyone else on the train. I wondered if the others around me could see that I am an editor. And I wondered what an editor looks like. Does an editor where only white t-shirts, blue jeans, and Chuck Taylors? Does an editor where ties? Does an editor where argyle sweater vests?

Back in the office from CEDIA, our associate publisher, Keith Pray, calls out to me: "Lots of people were asking about / for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Lots of people wanted to know where you were."

"That's nice to hear."

"You should definitely think about being out there next year."

And on the phone this afternoon, I mentioned to Jonathan Scull that I enjoyed watching as our CEDIA blog grew. It made me want to be there.

"You're still at the point in your career where everything is wonderful. Take your time with CEDIA. Enjoy the Home Entertainment Show. You know, with the way things have turned out, it's as though you're traveling along one of those moving sidewalks — running, while those around you are walking. Take some time and reflect."

Birthdays, it seems, are good for reflecting. And this blog makes it easy to look into the past. I'd like to look at where I've been, and compare it with where I am, in order to get some idea of where I'm going. I can see, for instance, that, one year ago today, I posted an entry called "Running."

Maybe, all along, I've just been trying to figure out who / what I am. Right now, I'm hungry and I'm going home. Good night.