I am a mother. A grandmother. A gardener. A friend. A health nut. A runner. A talker. A listener. A reader. A researcher. An explorer. A healer. An optimist. I am a writer.
We often define ourselves by what we do (or have done) or our relationships because those naming words also tell a story of what we do. Barely under the surface of that story is what we care about, which we feel says something essential about us, and we care very much that people know something true about us, whether we communicate that through social media, our manner of dress, our connections with others, our job or our interests or our social group.
“I am” is a very strong phrase, however – two simple words that resonate with force across cultures and millennia. It is a claim, a statement of being, a philosophical creation of a soul. We are neither a creation of someone’s body alone, nor a set of circumstances into which we were born, or even a culture in which we live or a belief system we espouse, though we carry a million stories within us whose characters are constantly speaking to us.
We are who we say we are because the statement becomes our present, born of a decision in our gut that has clawed or perked its way to the surface of our understanding. Words mean things. They don’t just define us; they transform us, marking clear cairns along the path from where we’ve been to where we’re going.
I write stories and I think about truth. This is my place to share rays of understanding that may or may not make it into my current book. You are welcome to come along for the ride. Tell me who you are in your comments along the way.