Aren’t labels a funny thing? It is how we introduce ourselves, describe our history, put a pin in who we are. Labels don’t seem to fit me now, or rather, they are of little benefit to how I want to move in this world. The coarse fabric of identifying with an occupation, a job title, or my accomplishments is awkward on this ever-changing body and mind. I am uninterested in telling you what I have done or hope to achieve. Instead, I find the liminal space of living and being to be more enticing, more real, more accurate to describe this middle-aged woman. Each day, new inputs make me question and ponder the old inputs. Make me wonder what the new outputs will bring about. How can I point to a set of circumstances to say, “This. This here is who I am. This is what I stand for”? It is impossible to do so.
Kindness1 and change have been my two constants in this brief, wondrous life. I understand now that the beauty of my life—of yours, too—is the imperfection in the attempts we make. Maybe all that is important to know about me is that I have been generous, and I have been cruel, and somewhere in between those two polarizations is a woman trying to be a little better each day. A woman who is actively working on disengaging from the small, fearful ego into the wide expanse of pure love, where the self disappears and the resplendent open acceptance for all beings is the default.
This may be unsatisfying as an About page, but it is where I am, at this moment, on this evening, in this small, rural town, with dusk falling rapidly on a chilly September night. I hope it’s enough.
