Virtue

Mercy.

It had been simple, really. Names here...in English, really...no one really bothered to remember what half of them meant. Even the obvious ones like 'Victoria'. They're after the person, the people, not the word. One things Queen Victoria, not victorious. Though one might associate them, perhaps not. And perhaps it's not her. Perhaps it's a childhood friend or acquaintance, so blond hair, gray eyes, and an old aunt who always brings cookies.

It was all so...random.

And the names that do have something obvious tend to be so mundane: Ruby, May, April, June. A rock. A month.

It's not like there's anything wrong. They can be perfectly good names. But given the choice...choice. Given the right to come up with my own name, there was just something in me that wanted more.

Yet I couldn't stick out. I couldn't pick something like spirit, or soul. English just doesn't do that often enough for one to blend.

Naturally, I gravitated toward virtues. But...Chastity? No. Charity was better, Hope was good. Still. I wanted something different. Charity was nice, but was a reaction to a problem. Hope was something that kept you going, good, but...

I wanted something that would be present if the world were perfect. Charity would not be needed, everyone would just have. You would not need hope, per se, it would just be. One does not really have hope the sun will rise; it is more that one would feel betrayed if it didn't.

But mercy. Yes, I liked Mercy. Even in a utopia, people would still make mistakes, however slight. Perhaps oversleeping. Forgetfulness.

What I really wanted, what I would have taken as a name if it were common, is Forgiveness. But Mercy is...well, fundamentally good, in ways Forgiveness isn't. Even if you cannot forgive, cannot forget, cannot let go, you can be merciful. You can let it pass.

"Name?"

"Mercy."

"Last name?"

I hadn't thought of one. Hm...your last name was your family, right? A connection to blood and earth. And that would not sound nearly so needlessly poetic if we were speaking just about anything but English, trust me.

I smiled. Trust.

John might approve, he might not. Either way. Here I am.

"I am Mercy Johnson."

She nodded, first in recognition and then to where I should go. "Third door on the right. Eleanor Wright will see you."

I nodded in recognition back and went to see Ms. Wright.

Musing #3: The Year 2010

Not originally a musing, but got that way as I wrote.

Whether you pronounce it twenty-ten or two-thousand-ten, it's here. And with it, something else, at least to my mind.

There are important years in our life. As an American, at least, I've gotta say ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one. As myself, I'll say five, six, twelve, and sixteen. That last one is coming up.

How many of you just did the math in your head there? Yeah. I've been writing the year as dd/mm/0y since I was six. It's...almost jarring to realize how much I've grown in that time, and how long it's been since 199x. I have grown from incapable of always keeping my letters straight to--well, I won't say my writing style is amazing, but the technique is there. And I've started to make it my own. I've figured out my main interests, I have a pretty good idea of what I want to get as a job. At six...I wasn't even sure who I was, in any way. Now, I may not know everything about myself, but I know that I want to sing. It hasn't come across on this blog very strongly, but music is my life. Singing, listening, playing...it's such a huge part of me, it's odd to look back at my self when I was so young I didn't know that. Even if I somehow was unable to get a job in music, I would sing.

I don't know if anyone reading this who doesn't know me will understand that. But now I feel like music is something that's written on my soul. And I didn't even think of it then.

I'm sixteen in a few months. I'm learning how to drive, which is an entirely new experience in and of itself. I have never had a form of movement that wasn't intuitive. Scooters? Turn the top thing the way you want to turn, push forward with your foot to move. Skateboards, pretty close, but it's weight distribution to turn. Bikes? Pedal and turn, clutch the brake to brake. But in a car, you've got all this stuff between you and the wheels, and you've got the gearshift, and then there's the fact that you can't see where the car is just by turning around, you have to memorize it by...well, hitting stuff. One hopes they're 2-liter soda bottles.

So, I guess the point is...I didn't realize I was growing up. It was there at the back of my mind, but I didn't feel it. I'm sixteen soon, and I remember not turning fifteen too long ago. I remember being, learning, teaching, seeing, knowing, changing, but not growing. I don't think I really have ever noticed that. I know what all of the others are, and how you do them. But what is growing? It's just something that happens. If I were in a cave and living, I'd be growing. I'm here in my nice, warm house and I'm growing. Growing is what you do when you're living.

...Huh. I guess that's it. Growing is everything you do when you're living. Growing is the adjustments to your environment, large or small, that allow you to keep moving. And whether those adjustments are to yourself pushing inward or other things pushing outward doesn't matter. Because changing others changes you. It might lead to introspection or direct action, but it changes you.