When I was a boy I used to walk 1 mile from the farm to the corner store/gas station. It was during these walks where I think I got in the habit of talking to myself. There were a few farms all the way, where most were to busy to be concerned with my affairs and back then I was obsessed with death, mostly my own. For reasons I don’t know why, I thought I would die when I was 17 or 37 or 57.
I have been living in Toronto for 30 years and whenever you see someone walking around talking to themselves here you just assume they’re crazy.
This year I turn 60 and have never felt better… and have grown past the point where I care what people think about me when I walk and talk.