I am at the orthodontist. Before the assistant presses the clammy clayish mold into my teeth for the second time in sixteen years, she asks, “What do you do?” A giant heaping mass of nothing fills the oxygen between us. I inhale and suddenly need more air. Something comes out.
“I’m a writer.”
“Um. A blogger. Well, a freelancer.” I pause, “Sort of.”
“What do you write about?”
“Courage, compassion, and creativity.” Does it sound memorized?
“That sounds cool.”
“It is,” I say, trying to convince myself I believe it. Can she detect the uncertainty?
Shoot. She isn’t saying anything.
She’s onto me. I might as well tell her the whole truth.
Thanks for joining us in Week 2 of a series: A Beautiful Becoming, Thoughts on Creative Identity from an Artist and a Poet.