My middle name is Grace, the name of a favorite aunt.
The word grace can mean ease and suppleness of movement, a virtue, being disposed to act with kindness, favour, a reprieve or a privilege, beauty and charm, a sense of propriety. (Merriam - Webster)
I have always considered my name some sort of cosmic joke, the ultimate irony, a poke in the eye, at the very least a sad misnomer. I spent my childhood with skinned knees, patched leotards (anybody remember those?), the last picked for teams (even waaay outfield, the softball would bounce off my chin, not land in my hand). I spent my adolescence wishing I was wallpaper (let me just be invisible). I still worry about what to say in social situations (even in Canada there is a limit to how long you can converse about the weather).
Now I'm 50 (ish), have a chronic illness, still sometimes feel as self assured as the acned girl in the polyester pantsuit, and both my babies have moved away from home (sigh). I think its time I embraced GRACE, and started BEING gracefully. So begins the journey...