Labels

Recently someone, someone who loves me and who I love back, called me a hero and a miracle. And I, as gently as I could, snarled and snapped, no I’m not. We came up with bad ass and I thought, yeah that’s me. But it’s really not. Inside I’m a big mushmellow, it’s just my shell that’s bad ass, steel and ice. But my spine and spirit are made of bendable, flexible, filaments of connectivity and fluidity that so far have made it possible for me to weather all that’s been thrown at me. The list is loooooong.

I’ve been doing some thinking about this whole miracle, hero, brave, bad ass thing. The labeling. I’m so uncomfortable with labels, ESPECIALLY ones with high pedestals like HERO. HOLY CRAP, I’m gonna RUN! I’m so gonna fall off that high and lofty spire and break my fucking nose and my other foot and then where would I be.

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Image by Eric Peacock

I’ve decided that if you insist on labels for me on my journey, I’ll accept…

Magnificent

Say that to yourself. *I* am Magnificent. No, not, Cynthia is Magnificent, “I (you) are Magnificent.” Spread your arms out to your sides, close your eyes, tilt your head back, open your heart and say, “*I* am Magnificent.”

Felt pretty fucking good didn’t it?

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