Awake in the middle of the night, I was hit some with some astonishing clarity. I am not Carol Pearson.
I wasn’t having an existential crisis or an out-of-body experience. Just a moment of bright, clean clarity.
Quite happily I chose to take the name Pearson in the spring of 2012. Prior to that in 1985, I had taken another last name. And before that, I used the name I was born with.
But I am none of those people, really, because those names are only a label, used for convenience and identification with my group and the larger world.
Who I am goes much deeper than a name, a label, what the world calls me: wife, daughter, mother, friend, writer, editor, client, employer…all used by agreement so people can more easily understand who we are. Often as not, those labels throw up barriers that prevent the depth we seek.
What I realized at 2:48 am today is the true “me” is nameless, indefinable, and quite beyond words. It’s the me I meet when I’m meditating or walking on the shore with the wild horses.
Such a lovely realization too, because suddenly all those things I’ve been called, or have labeled myself, are quite meaningless. Shy, outgoing, smart, selfish, fat, thin, sexy, weird, loving, compassionate, distant, organized, logical, a hot mess…all just labels and all only having an impact when I believe them and act accordingly.
The process of living is a process of constantly evolving. The real label I need is “Warning: Contents may have shifted during handling.”