My Name

So, I've been tormenting myself over this post. Trying to get it just right. I don't know how I got so hung up on it, but I did. Rewriting it over and over. Therefore, over thinking it over and over. I think this is my 4th or 5th go at it. Yes, it's been so many that I've lost count for the sake of my sanity. Why talk about my name? Well, the really really big kids had to write about their names last week. It was an activity inspired by Sandra Cisneros' House on Mango Street. I wanted a challenge. I've been so closed off lately, and I needed to open myself up once again. Here's the last go at it:

It's a love letter from my parents, a shadow, and a clunky pair of shoes that I needed to grow into. When I hear my name said in the room, I don't have to look around to see if the person is talking to me. I'm usually the only person in the room named Beatrice. A professor once told me that Dante was in love with a Beatrice, and he immortalized her in his Divine Comedy. I often wonder what it would be like to be immortalized in one of the greatest poems in history. Now, my name is on the cover of Yann Martel's second book. Yes, that's how I feel about it. It's my name. I have finally learned to embrace it, love it, and carry it well.