Return to Sender

Somewhere out there is a stack of mail with my name on it. It is not, however, waiting for me in my PO Box. By some quirk of the fates, instead of forwarding mail to my new address (as requested) the USPS has been returning it to the sender, and my box remains empty.

This got me thinking of the holiday film, Miracle on 34th Street. In the film, a lawyer is tasked with proving the existence of Santa Claus. He makes his case by showing that the United State Postal Service acknowledges the existence of Santa Claus (he brings in sacks of mail addressed to Santa at the North Pole), and if a government agency acknowledged his existence, he must be real!

By some quirk of reverse logic that got me thinking that if the United States Postal Service does NOT acknowledge my existence, perhaps I am NOT real! I have slipped under the radar, and maybe that is not a bad thing. If only the IRS and a few other agencies would forget my existence as well, I'd be in a fine place. As it is, when I get past the frustration of untangling my issues with mail delivery, it feels sort of liberating, being invisible here.

So I sit here in one of those marvelous, magical "edge places" on the planet, a place where earth, sky and ocean meet. I gaze out across a narrow stretch of meadow to the sea. Very few people know I am here. Those I meet, as I walk the trails or wade in the surf, I meet as strangers. Some may become friends, but for now at least, they know nothing of my biography and I know nothing of theirs. It is quite invigorating. I am not known by my job title, my marital status or my personal history. I am anonymous.

In this anonymity, I feel great freedom to reinvent myself, or at least to divest myself of the pieces of my history I have most identified with. Here is a chance to reclaim the woman behind the mask. Here is a chance to wake up each morning with no limits but the edges of my imagination. For a while, at least, this newness will linger. I will experience each morning as an Eden of possibility, and I will head out to find my dance partners for the day. The meadow and I will get to know each other. The cypress tree outside my bedroom will be my confidante. I will learn a new language from Raven and Hawk.

I convene a women's group each Saturday morning. Part of its wonder is that we cultivate the ability to see each other through the eyes of Essence, not personal biography or history. Seen as Essence, as the acorn that holds the potential of the whole oak, we are constantly stumbling across the extraordinary in ourselves and in each other. I am remembering this as I begin to introduce myself to strangers here in my new home. I am remembering to offer less of my history and biography, and more of my essence.

So, I'll stay anonymous for a while longer. And I have the USPS to thank for this gift!