Titles are labels that we wear as badges. I’ve had many titles, some of them given to me, and some of them personally created. I’ve tolerated all of them, liked some of them, and hated a few.

When someone asks, “what are you?” how do we respond? Often it is with what we do.

“I’m an attorney.”

“I’m a mom.”

“I’m a wife.”

“I’m a swimmer.”

“I’m a minister.”

Perhaps you think of other things, like your zodiac sign, or your personality type. Maybe you think of your religious affiliation, or lack of one.

Titles are helpful. We need them in the workplace. We expect them of the outside world so that we know who is the boss and where we should take our complaints (and, hopefully, sometimes our praise).

Titles are also tourniquets. They constrict who we are or who we want to be. They put us in a box. They stop the blood flow to other parts of the body. They give us credentials that perhaps we don’t warrant. They provide society with a build-in mechanism for concluding who is worthy of attention, who is smart(er), and who is socially inferior.

I am not sure if my goal is to have an untitled life, or just a “less-titled” life. We’ll see.

This blog will be nothing more than my musings on the untitled life. Read it if you like. Comment away. Or click and never return. It’s all fine with me.