the undeniable loss
of refusing to open
The word I sort-of picked for this year was open. And it’s a word that’s served me well, a quiet, pleasant reminder to keep growing, always.
And lately I’ve been thinking about words (okay, I admit, I am always thinking about words) as labels. We have good ones and bad ones, but that varies depending on who it is that’s applying them. We can call ourselves old or fat or lazy or any number of things, but when someone else does it, we are hurt, or offended, or outraged. We also test this theory by calling ourselves positive things, goddess and badass and guru and warrior, things that pump us up and make us feel good (or better) about who we are.
But they’re all labels. Definitions. Closed books that allow the rest of the world to see nothing but the cover, even if it is one we drew ourselves.
I want to see what’s on the inside. We’re not supposed to judge books by their covers, but we do. I want to crack the spine and hold the pages open. I want to read every sentence.
I recently acquired a new label: Grandma. (One I love and am happy to claim, by the way). But when I ran into acquaintance and told her the news, she said something about how we were going to have to think of a better word to call it. And then I wondered why. Because I am a grandma. And a woman, and a wife and a mother and a runner and a gardener and a writer and a photographer and a poet and a housekeeper and a business owner and a laundress and an accountant and a cat box cleaner-outer. Labels.
I am an amalgam of labels.
We try to peel off the ones we don’t like, and pretty up the ones we do, adding scrolls and graphics and big bold letters. We wear those proudly, and the rest we try to hide, under clothing and posture and presentation.
But here’s what I say: Release them all. Refuse to let them stick, refuse to be defined.
Be a new word every minute. An ordinary word, an ordinary minute, a real, alive, breathing, changing, blossoming word.
Keep them guessing. Keep yourself guessing. Hold your arms wide open, and let the petals fall where they may.
Set your story free on the wind.
Watch where it goes.
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.
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July 9th, 2015 at 9:56 am
always, always, always.
July 9th, 2015 at 12:50 pm
Congratulations! I love the word Grandma, such a blessing!Love your post.xoxo
July 9th, 2015 at 1:00 pm
So perfect … my petals are blowing in the wind right now!
July 9th, 2015 at 2:14 pm
I’ve been working on my book structure and what are it’s themes and what is THE theme. In one attempt, I decided the book was about identity and how I’d looked outside myself to be defined (finding birth parents, having a man define me, etc). And I started to label chapters with its identity of the moment, which were much like the ones you mention. The one that hurt and shamed and still does was “Crazy”. Although, you can turn it around, say with a different emphasis and inflection and it can mean something “Cool”. So yes, turn those labels around, search around to find new ones to try on, or just say them in a voice different from the one that you first heard it coming from.
Congrats on grandmahood!
July 9th, 2015 at 8:41 pm
Be a new word every moment. I like that thought. We can become too comfortable under those labels and it can Def pull hair tearing them off. Ha. Enjoy that little one though.
August 9th, 2015 at 1:51 pm
congratulations, grams! ~