On the cusp of a new calendar year, I still do not know what to call myself. Gritz hangs, caught between two expanses of creamy white on the opening page of this new journal. Besides the words on the next page (creativity, curiosity, pursuit), and all of the meanings they conjure and contain, I want to find my name this year. What a year to claim a new name.
The time has come for new vowels and syllables. The little boat with wooden oars has been here for a while, in fact, sloshing algae water at the dock. It is time, it seems, to find them.