WWOD?

I first heard Michelle Obama speak last spring during the Presidential primaries. I’d scooped Little Bitty out of school early, gone down to the city armory, and stood in a line that extended down the block, waiting. Her flight from Chicago was so much delayed that at the time she was supposed to be delivering her speech here, her plane was still on the tarmac in Illinois. But we all waited. And it was worth the wait.

What struck me most about that speech—and what has struck me consistently during these past two years (two years!) of hearing both Obamas speak—was the sense of purpose that they have individually, that they seem to share with each other and that they are offering to the nation.

She talked that day, as I’ve heard her do since, about her past—the lessons she learned from watching her father; listening to her mother; navigating school, university and the world of work. She talked about her vision for her future—the kind of people she wants her girls to become, the things she wants to do herself, the things she expects from her husband.

In the open letter to his daughters, Barack Obama outlines the same vision—one that is personal for his family, but that also places them in a larger context, so that they understand that they have an important place and an important purpose in the world. He wrote, “I hope both of you will take up that work, righting the wrongs that you see and working to give others the chances you've had. Not just because you have an obligation to give something back to this country that has given our family so much—although you do have that obligation. But because you have an obligation to yourself. Because it is only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you will realize your true potential.”

If nothing else, the Obamas are deeply thoughtful. Their sense of purpose is inspirational. Whatever happens in the days to come—whatever the difficulties and triumphs—I anticipate being inspired by this family. Not in an abstract, political, nationalistic way; for me, their leadership is personal. They are a model for my family—or what I hope my family to be: A strong, sensible woman and a thoughtful, purposeful man together raising balanced, self-assured children and living out a life of intention.

Pomegranates and Paradoxes

“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. . . .”

—from Antony and Cleopatra

When we were courting, easing into engagement, my now-husband called me “99,” after the svelte, dark-haired Agent 99 on the 60s TV show “Get Smart.” (Remember that one?) He said that I represented 99 percent of the things he had always wanted in a woman. (Ever practical, he didn’t call me "100" to leave a little room for whatever tiny little thing about me didn’t quite make his list. No one’s perfect, he affirmed. Of course I agreed.)

Back then, I thought the nomenclature clever and fun and romantic and I loved to sign little notes to him with my new, numeric nickname. But after a while (I don’t remember when, but I’d guess it was sometime after the dreamy beach wedding and well into the getting-to- know-the-REAL-you phase) it occurred to me that 99 was a little…limiting.

“I’m not 99,” I told him. “I’m 99 times 99. I’m infinite.” So was he, I conceded. So are we all.

I rebel against the slightest sense that I might be expected to stay within the confines of someone’s expectations (even my own). I knew enough about myself to understand that I am, if nothing else, a mass of contradictions, a packet of perfect paradox. There is no box that some part of me won’t seep out of. I've done things that surprised even me and learned from the experience that, with me, anything is possible. I am a woman of “infinite variety.” So are you. We all are.

It’s terribly inconvenient. So much easier—for you and everyone around you—to settle on a definition of yourself and just stick to that. Frees your mind to think about other things. But we grow and change. We're sure of one thing today and certain of something else tomorrow. We break and hit bottom; we recover, we realize, we rise up. Shift happens.

The definition of “human” includes innate complexity. And if we are to know and embrace our own personhood—and that of the people we love—then we might as well be prepared to delve into the convoluted intricacy that makes us different from one another. If we value our own personhood—and want it to be accepted—we will demand that delve. If we crave the sweet, complicated intimacy that comes from fully and truly knowing another, we’ll be willing dig in. It’s a juicy journey, but well worth it.

Think of it like eating a pomegranate. Outside: alluringly rosy, surprisingly tough; inside: full of crunch and pith and juice. You have to deal with the seeds and the stain in order to sip the bittersweet nectar. An apple is an easier, sweeter fruit to eat, but the pomegranate has 99 times the goods.

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My infinite sister Danielle LaPorte’s recent post inspired this one. Check out her new site whitehottruth.com for more self-inspiration.