designed, so to speak, to be read as drivel

I wanted for some years to end up as E F Benson - a prolific writer of the turn of the century (the 1900s) now lapsed into memory, beloved by only a few.  Myself being a key one of the few, of course.
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I longed to be "discovered" by some far distant person - to be thought of as a wit.  Enjoyed in the ever present "now" of course, but then lost for a period.  Discovered when grace and decorum have returned to the world
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I suppose I still hope for that, but the truth has begun to intrude on my delusions.  I shall never write over 100 books as my hero did.  He was a loner, the son of a Vicar and, my guess, a homosexual unwilling to challenge the societal norms even to himself.  Much like E. M. Forester, but leaving no mental roadmap of his demons, ala Maurice.
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Furthermore, I doubt that grace and decorum will ever return to this world - parts of it, perhaps; but humility and politeness are on the ebb and grace is but a distant memory.  An idea treated by youth as hopelessly out of date as rotary phones and thank you cards.
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But I digress.
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Your Metaphysical Self Image

I find that I am shrinking, in a metaphysical sense.  It happens to all of us, if we live long enough and haven't founded a religion.
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When you are very young, your experiences bound the world.  Therefore, anything you do effects nearly the entire world.
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As you get a slightly larger world view, you attend school; elementary, then secondary and often college.  And there your perception of the world grows, and you therefore shrink (relatively).  But it is a brief moment - it is, metaphysically, more than made up for by your possible future.  As we say in America, you can grow up to be anything.  An astronaut, President, movie star, even Snookie or some Real Housewife of some enchanted television land.
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So while your world grows, your possible metaphysical self grows as well.  Perhaps not your probable self, but your possible self.
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And in your 20s and 30s, or at least in my 20s and 30s, the possible seemed quite possibly doable for a while.  I worked at jobs where I influenced decisions and changes (and therefore other people) worldwide.  Sure they were cold and electronic, but I did my tiny part that was shipped out everywhere.  And in my other job (as a bartender) I interacted with hundreds (at least) of people weekly.  And I listened, I gave advice.  I was, in my brain, charming.  (Others refer to my behavior in a variety of ways, let's settle for charming and move on.)
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But the years wear on.  And now, in my 50's, the metaphysical me has shrunk.
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My ability to influence the world, to turn out like E F Benson, to contribute, to become meaningful (whatever that means) beyond my husband, family and friends is a closing window.  Not closed, but not swinging any wider.
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And so my metaphysical self is shrinking.
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Many of my E.F. Benson's.  Carted around the world.

And I can ignore the slow motion decline.  Or lose hope.  I think for many years I would have done the latter.  But not now.  I have never been happier than I am with Ed.  I honestly didn't expect to see the turn of this century (2000), but I am no where near ready to give up.
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And so I accept my reduced metaphysical self.  But I think I will redouble my efforts to become the greatest possible metaphysical me.  My potential isn't as large as it once was (I'll never be President or even Snookie), but my commitment to be the best me is probably stronger than it has ever been.
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At least today.