Strange for the world and strange for my physical mind to accept too, that at 52 I still don't know "what I want to be when I grow up". What a question!
When do we "grow up"? People ask me, "what do you do?" and I still have a problem answering that question. Every time a specific description/name is brought to the table, I want to wipe it off because it disturbs my view. Every time I have tried to characterize or define myself, I feel the weight of words and closed realities caging my being.
