About

I’ll be frank.  I hate … and by hate I mean pathologically loathe, these “about” pages.  I’m sure they work great for people who are going to be blogging about something very specific, such as Asian fusion cooking, the experience of parenting sextuplets, or the challenge of keeping a tiger undiscovered in one’s basement for years until the tiger one day escapes and eats someone.  For those people, the “about” page is a walk in the park, the equivalent of checking off one’s gender or ethnicity in one of those endless little boxes at the doctor’s office or DMV.  For those people, the “about” page is no problem.  For me, I don’t mind telling you, it is crazy-making.  I stare at that empty white rectangle of space that I am supposed to fill up with words I use to tell the world (or whoever stumbles unwittingly onto this blog and happens to read it) who I am, and what I’m about, I watch that blinking cursor blink, and become paralyzed.  My fingers, normally quite at home and at ease when hovering over a keyboard, become tense.  My brain freezes.  I feel a slight perspiration begin at my hairline and under my arms.  What am I about? What is this blog about?  What am I doing here?

Honestly?  I have no idea.  There are people who, from birth it seems, have no troubles whatsoever in clearly defining themselves.  I’m a wife.  I’m a mother.  I’m a Sagittarius.  I’m a tightrope walker.  Whatever.  I am not one of those people.  I am many things, but not, it seems, one defining thing.  There is a 90’s song called “Bitch,” sung by Meredith Brooks, that I have always identified with. “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint …I do not feel ashamed”  I heard that song for the first time twenty some years ago, and I just thought “Yes!  Exactly!”  Twenty years later, I still feel the same way.  I am many things all at once, some of them polar opposites of one another.  And you know what?  That’s ok.  I’m only in the middle of my life (I hope), and I still have some time to figure it all out.  Maybe one day I’ll get there.  Maybe one day I’ll know.  If that day ever comes, maybe I’ll be able to look at this blank white rectangle, this blinking cursor, and not have to sit and chant “What am I about … what am I about …. what am I about?” under my breath, in a  mantra of escalating panic.  Right now, though, today?  I am going to be honest and say that I don’t really know exactly what I’m about, but I’m starting to feel like I’m getting there.  Like, in my fourth decade walking this planet, I am finally starting to figure it out.  I have no idea where I might end up, because, let’s be truthful, none of us really do, but wherever I’m headed, you’re welcome to come along.

 

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