When I was very young, I found a book of baby name origins and meanings in a grocery store while my mom was in the check-out line. Feeling that I'd discovered a rare treasure, I rushed to sneak it onto the conveyor belt.

I've always found joy in naming things, my sister's Pokémon, my college friend's sculpture pieces, my own stories and characters. I even fashioned a new name for myself, one that both frees and grounds me.

I do concede, however, that the quest to name a thing, to gain control, is a foolhardy endeavor. It's a deeply human grasping for understanding and truth, those words so grand they almost hold no meaning.

True power lies in those things that defy a pinning down, a naming- those wicked, engulfing, gorgeous things.

As a writer these nameless things seem to taunt me, but they are only teaching, so I do my best to listen.