"Mommy, who am I?"
I stopped dead in my tracks. "Wha...? What do you mean, hon?"
"Who am I? I don't think I know who I am." Such a question for a five year old. She asked it with such sincerity. Such fear.
"Well of course you know who you are, sweetie, you're Wilhelmina. You're my daughter."
She looked away in disappointment. I hadn't come up with the right answer. The desired response.
I've been thinking a lot lately. Too much. Too much about what I'm unhappy about. What I don't have. What I've lost. What was taken from me. What I've squandered. Her query made me ask the same question. Who am I? Really?
Then I watched a documentary tonight and it answered almost all of my questions. Single-handedly.
What I learned tonight, after watching people retreat to the bowels of the city for a myriad of reasons, was that it's not who I am but, more importantly, who I am right now. And, ultimately, who I will be.