Who Am I?
It's such a typical coming-of-age question, and even beyond that phase of life, a good answer can be hard to find. The question seems simple and straightforward, but upon unpacking, it morphs into:
1) what defines an individual
which may branch out to further ideas such as:
2) what constitutes as identity; or, 3) what are the key facets that would effectively add up to describe the whole person; but, 4) what makes someone unique anyway; and, 5) are we even unique?
... and soon the questions are multiplying like rabbits.
It feels like the solve to a math equation, where you write more and more to try and boil it down to its core... except in this scenario, I'm yet to find a simple answer.
So this is the long letter that couldn't get whittled down. And if you're not a long-letter-to-get-to-know-someone kind of person, or simply don't have the time, feel free to choose the one-pager, portfolio, or CV.
... or not!
You know, it's dawning on me that I might be overthinking this. It can't possibly be so hard to write a simple “this is me” page. Everyone does it! Almost like... driving a car: manipulating a big heavy machine to cruise at the max speed of a cheetah, but in an orderly fashion, with a horde of cousins stampeding just like it. And your neighbor's sixteen-year-old kid does it. In short, ridiculous at first thought, but actually perfectly doable.
Right?
(I got my driver's license at 27.)
All right. Let's start with a name. My name. You will see that I go by Diane Catsburrow Linnet. It was the pen name I gave myself as a small bushy-tailed kitten who wanted to become a Newbery novelist.
That's a long time ago now, and many things have changed... but I've also used it consistently enough with my creative work that it makes sense to stand by it. Plus, the logic of "catsburrow" still stands: I have a connection with cats (or, at least, a certain cat character:
and I burrow in all the stuff I begin.
And boy, do I begin things. The deepest history available on this website is the literary magazine that I wrote, printed, and mailed for three years. I took a few of the works that I had in there, and published a book. Then, I put those activities on pause to attend a liberal arts college 6,000+ miles from home.
I suspected then, and know now, that I'm nomadic by nature. I joke that I collect zip codes; in my head, how I define “lived” is “stayed at an address reliably enough to receive mail.” By this standard, I've gathered about 15 zip codes across North America, Europe, and East Asia. In each of them, I seek out the art supplies stores, yarn shops, and coffee places that offer non-coffee options. They go on my map for when I trace back to revisit my history. Which I will do, for most places.
I think a lot about place.
I do like the idea of a reliable life. I wonder, sometimes, about such a thing as a permanent address. But I also get antsy. I live on my toes, fear getting stagnant, and strive to see and learn and grow. And hey, it's a great era for a personality like mine.
What's tougher is leaving people behind. I wonder about connections, what persists and what drifts apart. What makes an imprint. And if leaving makes me
But isn't stability a myth?
I suspected early, and am certain now, that I'm philosophical by nature. I toss, and turn, overthink and overanalyze, refuting my own opinions over and over again. It's not even a "I think, therefore I am"— it's almost like "I am, therefore I think." I can't help it. In fact, in desperate attempts to convince myself, I write, make art, and tell stories. I create fictional people, build scenarios, and see where that takes me. See what I discover.
It's usually a painful process. Time-consuming, too. So I can't help but revel in that we seem to have no given purpose in life. We are free to do as our heart desires: to explore far, to burrow deep, and to discover what these pursuits reveal. And if that process pains us, hurts us, and confuse us, we can react, recover, and rebuild. But we don't have to explain ourselves for wanting to keep doing it.
So, I write, and I draw. I animate. Draw cartoons. Do some coding. Make posters. Paint, sometimes. Crochet. Think about picking up swing dance again. Things are hobbies, till I turn them into something useful or ambitious.
What does all that make me? Does it make me anything? I don't really know. And somehow, that doesn't bother me, either. We'll just keep going, and discover as we go.