A good friend has nurtured an ambition to write for several years, but recently she questioned whether it was actually the writing or the subject – food – that was the true burning passion. Without wishing to put words in her mouth (neat pun, huh?), for her it’s not just about the cooking, it’s about food at the heart of who we are, as families and individuals. The science, politics, risks, health, time, togetherness – food sits at the centre of every culture in some way and the choices we make about how we feed ourselves is more important than ever. And potentially more divisive too.
However, today she has decided she is a Writer, and I applaud her to the moon and back. And she has me thinking (and not just about how I ever survived without reading Facebook status updates)…
Perhaps the debate about what defines us gets lost between message and medium, between what we believe in and what we must do to live it. Between what we call ourselves and who we actually are – and whether it really bloody matters.
What we say in that mythical but career-defining elevator categorises us only according to what the words mean to that listener, in that moment. Simplicity, then, can be both aid and barrier to what we really mean – or, more to the point, what it means to be us.
I’ve never been able to explain what I am, even when I was something (I mean, when I had a job, with a title on a business card and a job description covering several sides of A4). People would ask me what it meant to be what I was, and to be frank, by the time I’d finished answering I’m not sure which of us would be more confused.
And what, therefore, am I now?
I’m not even sure that’s the right question – but what is?
So, for this moment, I’ll stick with being he4dgirl – and let you decide what that means to you.
And while you’re cogitating, give the Writer a read at Food, My Family and Me. I doubt there’s a single one of us that doesn’t appreciate a bit of feedback no matter what you think, and she’s no exception.