At this stage in my life I repeat endlessly the same words to my one-year old daughter. Car, dog, cat… even when we’re driving on the highway, or taking a walk in the parc at dog walking hour. I read the same books, over and over again, imitating all kinds of farm animals (I do the best cock-a-doodle-doo, really). And I don’t mind. Although mothering doesn’t pay, is not highly regarded in today’s society, it is what I do best and what I love most. I admit it’s not all I want to do in this lifetime, but caring for this girl definitely is one of the reasons I’m on this earth.
This week I’m coming to peace with the idea that being me simply means piecing together all the parts that have meaning to me. Accepting that I attract into my life what I need to address in order to heal the soul. I have learned this lesson intellectually some years ago, but only now its seeds fall into good ground. There are no mistakes, just a zillion ways to be me.