Liz invited me to lunch. She is a poet. My husband and I have met her and her husband on the dance floor. I was “tickled pink”, as my southern mother would say, that she asked me to lunch. We talked for hours. While the restaurant got quieter and quieter, we got louder. When she told me she was an Enneagram four, I jumped up and squealed! No wonder we have a connection.
Liz asked me a question, author to author, “What do you most identify yourself as?”
For a long time, I was a teacher. In retirement, I’ve become a teaching artist. In March, I released my first baby board book. But my answer to her question was “Poet!”
And it felt good to say it out loud.
Identity is a tricky thing. Of course, our vocation dictates our identity. I will never not be a teacher. Now that I have 5 grandchildren, I will forever be Mamére.
Claiming the title poet feels vulnerable. Am I worthy of this title?
What do you claim as your identity?
In church on Sunday, listening from the choir loft, I found a poem in the Psalm. May we all find the bravery to be who we are called to be.
A Poet Listens to the Psalm and Hears
You marched—
skies poured
gracious rain,
refreshed goodness.
Sing, mighty voice,
to holy places!
Blessed be!
Reflections on the Teche 