What defines you? What label do you wear with pride and what label do you shunt, careful not to be seen? If you’re asked what you are, do you say that you’re a lawyer, a philosopher, a beer drinker, a mother, a dancer, a man, a woman, an artist.
Do you let others define you?
Are really all these small labels supposed to encompass the cells of your body, innumerable, the days you have lived, emotions that have exhilarated and shattered you, discoveries you’ve made, thoughts and opinions formed in your unique mind, music you’ve listened, moves you’ve made, people you’ve hugged, lessons you’ve learnt or taught, home works and late work hours, sunsets and sunrises, good and bad coffee, filth and purity in a city day walk.
For one transcends the other, like breathing feeds the body, with air miraculously produced and refreshed by living organisms, part of a chain which stretches endlessly beyond scientifically known facts. Just like you.
So do you want to fill a small box with your little description, do you want to proudly pin up your label and forget you are more?
Are you…your box?