Person

That’s what I am.

At least I think so; not quite sure sometimes, though.

But if I am one, I’m glad for that opportunity.

Sometimes, when we are younger, friends ask, ‘If you could be any animal, which would be?’

I changed that answer so many times.

“I wish I could be a bird, to fly high, and soar”

“I wish I could be a horse, to run through fields, and sleep under starred skies”

“I wish I could be a whale, to jump and splash on the ocean’s waves”

…and owl, panther, snake, butterfly, platypus. So many.

But apparently it was planned for me to born as me, and that’s just perfect. I’m exactly the person I was supposed to be. Isn’t that great?

Summing up the past 45 years (I just turned 45 last August 8th), I had no ordinary upspring. No parental folks, but amazingly gifted grandparents that passed away too soon (for me; they died when they were supposed to), learned to play instruments, to write, to draw, to drive, to ride, to dive, to breathe, to live; to do it all even with fear. Living alone since my fourteens, working in several places even before that and for a while, no support whatsoever except from one person, for a short term (whom I will always remember dearly, because he also passed away). Got involved in protests, hush-hush voluntary work, arrested twice (domestic and offshore), lived in more than 12 countries, met extraordinary people, my dream-career found me early (I love my lifelong work), had (have!) a son, a huge fur-legged family, started and restarted my life all over so many times, in so many places.

The only human family I have is my son, the rest is gone now.

I had a tough life.

Did I? I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I haven’t. I know I don’t.

There is sun, rain, fields, wind, flowers, animals. There is work, food, water, clothes, a place to sleep for all my family and I.

I’m privileged. I’m a God-believer-feminist-white-woman, and I’m privileged.

I live in a place where I can believe, where I can express my thoughts, dress and walk and do whatever the common sense (and law) allows me to do in this hemisphere.

I wouldn’t change a thing, a blink, a step, a scar. All combined collaborate to inform who I am — and I am great.

I love myself. I couldn’t live without me. I’m constantly falling in love with every single idiosyncrasy my mind decides to reveal every day, and it is rewarding.

I hope I’ll never know me good enough. I will thrive in making every dawn a new rediscovering process on each little tiny bit of me, for me to keep falling in love with myself, day-after-day.

No, I’m not narcissistic.

But I do follow that old saying: “love your neighbour as you love yourself.”

If I’m supposed to love my neighbour with all the strength as if loving myself, damn!, I surely have to deeply love me.

And that’s good.

This very year, I finally discovered how is the feeling of being (eros, ludus, pragma) reciprocally loved.

Probably because I actually utterly love myself. (and probably because he has tons of patience, too)

Anyway, what I’m trying to convey with this text is simple: Love yourself. Appreciate small things, if possible. Gratitude is soul-changer. Even if you don’t believe in soul.