I.11 — Names

A name is a small fist. It closes around a living thing and holds it still so it can be carried more easily. Useful, as fists are. But the thing goes on living inside the name, and the name does not notice.

You have named people. A difficult brother, a cold friend, a boss who does not listen. The names are years old, and the people have changed inside them the way weather changes inside a forecast. When you meet them you meet the name first and the person, if at all, second.

You have named yourself the same way. Anxious, or the strong one, or bad at this. Every morning the name is put on before the day.

Test it with one person. Set the name down before the next meeting and look at who actually arrives. Not to be generous — only to see. Sometimes the name was accurate and nothing changes. Often something in the person had moved, and the name had been holding an old photograph.

The practice is not to stop naming. It is to hold the names the way you hold anything: loosely enough that the living thing can be felt through them.