That and This

Hi. My name is Elizabeth, and I am a mom. Sometimes, that is all I know about myself. I mean, I am also a wife. A cook. A cleaning technician. A very part-time teacher.

Other than these labels, I am not always sure what or whom I am, at least sometimes.

With all of my attempts at growing as a person, I often feel it all goes back to these few titles beside my name.

I confessed to a former therapist once that I was in crisis mode knowing I'd never be Buddha. This might sound silly to someone who has never had a spiritual crisis. But, in those few months, I felt extremely conflicted about which spiritual path was mine. Which road led to my personal enlightenment? Who was going to put the grain of rice in my bowl that would break open the universe? Karate, chop!

I confess. These questions sometimes really matter to me. Much of the time, however, I am too far down on the list of Maslow's hierarchy of needs to care. Often,the brain cells which worry about all of this are bogged down with wondering how my husband and I will retire before the age of 90.

But, this is a key aspect of identity: spirituality. And, for whatever reason, our society needs labels for these things. If you aren't Christian, then you must be Jewish, or Hindu, or a practicing Buddhist. The "I-am-not-so-sure-what-I-am" state of being lies outside of our comfort zones. There is something wrong if we fall into this "category."

The needing to name what we are doesn't seem like a necessary part of the quest, if I step back and look at all of this from a remotely objective position. In fact, isn't it the need to name which strangles all budding flowers? The need to know what and where we stand with everything and everyone?

As January turns her cold shoulder on the new year, I turn mine on labeling. And frankly, that's that. And this is this.