I like to complete the prompts the day they are given. This may be Magic Making Circle and not graduate school, but I am still the girl who likes to shout out the answer before the teacher even finishes asking the question.


“Who are you becoming?” she asks us to consider.


I’ve barely just figured out who I am now, let alone the next iteration of my messy, beautiful self. Me from before would muscle through it and pry the answer from somewhere, anywhere. Me from now is frustrated with the lack of answers but she is able to sit with the unknowing, to impatiently trust that the answers will come.


I want another tattoo so badly. Hours spent on Pinterest searching for the perfect talisman. Hundreds of mildly inappropriate stares at the wrists, forearms, shoulders of beautifully inked strangers. Who I’m becoming won’t allow me to settle on something good enough. She knows my forearms are sacred, limited space. That I must be sure; that I deserve to be sure. That I’m still stepping into the next iteration and now is not the time for permanent decisions. That just as my forearms are limited real estate so are my heart and mind. That I deserve the time and the space to really discern what to let in and what to release.



I go to get my nails done and a color pulls at me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever chosen and I can’t take my eyes off of it. It hits me. This color is my becoming. Grey-ish. Purple-ish. Space between. All here. I am becoming the woman who stays. She stays with the hard, the confusing, the scary. She no longer runs to food or wine or work. She doesn’t try to fix it or figure it out. She is learning to breathe through it, to be with it. To inhabit her life. To trust. To surrender. To truly let go. To simply be.