Do you ever think of your life's work?If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’-Martin Luther King, Jr.I am in an existential space that has me restless, thinking and questioning. About purpose and childbirth and passions and what I ultimately want for my life. Why do people (want/have to) get married? Why do they want to have children? And by why, I'm thinking in terms of outcomes. What are their hopes? Why do we want these things?Some three years ago, I read something from Warsan Shire way back where she was talking about the sound of your name from your lover's mouth. She said, “Give your daughters difficult names. Give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. My name makes you want to tell me the truth. My name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.”
I loved it.
Someone said my name the other day, and said it so badly, it made my heart ache. He was a potential lover, don't ask, and I realized for the first time that he had some type of speech impediment. I'd talked to him for almost a decade, and he called me by a nickname the whole time. And I’m not even talking of my native name, my English name was killing him. Sigh. What’s love got to do with it? Or potential. I don’t know.