"How very simple life would be

if only there were two of me

A Restless Me to drift and roam

A Quite Me to stay at home.

A Searching One to find his fill

Of varied skies and newfound thrill

While sane and homely things are done

by the domestic Other One.

And that's just where the trouble lies;

There is a Restless Me that cries

For chancy risks and changing scene,

For arctic blue and tropic green,

For deserts with their mystic spell,

For lusty fun and raising Hell

But shackled to that Restless Me

My Other Self rebelliously

Resists the frantic urge to move.

It seeks the old familiar groove

That habits make. It finds content

With hearth and home---dear prisonment,

With candlelight and well-loved books

And treasured loot in dusty nooks,

With puttering and garden things

And dreaming while a cricket sings

And all the while the Restless One

Insists on more exciting fun,

It wants to go with every tide,

No matter where...just for the ride.

Like yowling cats the two selves brawl

Until I have no peace at all.

One eye turns to the forward track,

The other eye looks sadly back.

I'm getting wall-eyed from the strain,

(It's tough to have an idle brain)

But One says 'Stay' and One says 'Go'

And One says 'Yes,' and One says "No,"

And One Self wants a home and wife

And One Self craves the drifter's life."

Don Blanding, The Double Life