Names are words. Words have powah. Words put together in a story, the right kind of story, well. Those are the most powahful words of all, methinks.
I think that’s what each of us is trying to do in some way–figure out what our story is, has been, and will be, and tell it to ourselves first, so that we can sort it out and understand it, and then tell it to others, so we share what we have learned and who we have become.
I definitely think that is what I am trying to do–hear my own story, amidst the clamor of everything around me; tell it to myself a few times so I can get it straight, and then tell it to others…
It’s not linear like that, of course. It’s all spiral and two-steps-back-one-step-forward and messy.
But every piece of my story I can reclaim out of the clamor is a tiny victory; every word I write is a little bit of humming in the dark.