What I am

I used to hear the way grown-ups described themselves and wonder when I would know. Would I wake up one day and just know? Would I lie there in my bed, soft and warm, comfortable with my eyes not yet open and know? I am a concert pianist, or classical musician! Or, I am the next Frank Lloyd Wright, or John Lloyd Stephens, or maybe even Monet!

And then, disappointed, I thought I had missed my calling. Like my fifth grade teacher said, I seemed to be a jack of all trades master of none, I had not heard that final call defining me as one great part of the hive that would influence history and make my name one people would remember.

I was destined to be one of the great uncalled. I found myself married with children, one of the busy little bee drones who keep the hive humming but do so without any tie to fame unless she manages to fine tune the ears of one of her children so they hear the call.

Until today.

Today I sat here in my big comfortable chair, reading and noticing the errors in the writing, looking around my apartment and rearranging it in my head, remembering what a great assistant I have been to various and sundry people because I see the small things, always moving things about, changing them to be slightly better. I empathize and move and work on details tirelessly and lovingly because I am an editor!

I edit everything the way termites naturally devour anything wood, the way pigs just start rutting in the mud, the way birds build nests and clouds collect moisture.

It is what I am.