My mother gave me a book called “Half Jewish” with a bagel on the cover. A little boy in it was quoted as having said, “I’m half Jewish and half nothing.” While I was beating my head into the wall and the synagogue and the church and the satsang I felt that way too. Now I give myself permission to be all Jewish and all me: addict/alcoholic/co-dependent with a tiny sugar/caffeine/nicotine habit on the side. Wanderlust traveler turned homeowner who can barely change a lightbulb. Sarah Lawrence grad who fell so in love with the one straight guy on campus I may as well have majored in him. Love junkie turned wife. Mother of unborn children, sent from the operating table to pathology. Mother of a son so gorgeous and brilliant and entirely himself that I lay in bed wondering how he happened. This morning he taught me how to draw a finger maze that looked like a brain or large intestine. “If you don’t know where you’re going, neither will the solver,” he told me and I thought that maybe that’s what’s gone wrong in my life. I’m a teacher who started teaching at age 7 in high heels with a stuffed animal roll call and now call some of the best people in the universe—or at least Richmond and surrounding counties and municipalities—students of my very own. I’m a believer and an experimenter, a risk taker trying now to take creative risks rather than destructive ones. I’m a seeker and a finder and though I was once an editor the truth is I’m terrible at grammar and my elementary school teacher’s label of “creative speller” still holds true. I devour food and words like a wild animal. I am just now getting to know my body as something that can move in the service of good.