Cana

I don’t remember when she started calling me Cana but it has always been a name floating in the spare space between us.

I have never disliked the name but when she used to float it my way I did not receive it on to me. It did not yet have adhesive to stick to. That adhesive would eventually be all of the parts of me I did not yet know existed.

Now when she floats that name my way I snatch it from the air and stick it to my chest like a badge I wear with honor. 

I don’t know what’s better, that the name has found its way to me or that she has found me in the name. 

When she finds me in this name I am consumed by the good parts of me. I am a traveler. I am an artist. I am a beautiful dreamer. I am a unique thinker.

She is a person I love and she authentically believes me to already be the things I thought I needed to achieve. She reminds me that these things are here and they find their home in all parts of me. 

I did not always see or accept what she was doing for me but that did not mean I was not learning. 

Society had taught me that if someone was different they did not belong. She taught me that the best things are never ordinary and if you want to truly belong you must be different.

I saw her long sleeves in the summertime and fluffy hair that is uncharacteristic for our family and knew she was different. I learned to love her version of different.

To the moon and back, I cannot thank her enough for showing me different.

I see that different is becoming for her. I adore her fluffy hair that has possessed all of the colors of the rainbow and her long sleeve vintage finds. 

She taught me to unleash my imagination and to protect my skin from sun damage. 

She taught me that it's okay to refuse meat and an ordinary existence and move to the beach. 

And most vitally, she taught me that being different is the only way to swallow authenticity down into your belly.

Today I find refuge in her and that name. I call to talk about the books we’re reading or when I have had a lucid dream or when I need guidance in a world of choices. She is slow to the phone and her answering machine almost always picks up. I hang on a few extra moments to see if she will answer.

In my singing voice, I use my name for her saying, my goat are you there?

She picks up with an exiting proclamation of Cana, how are you, my beautiful dreamer?