I Hate Labels.
In their bios on blogging platforms like Medium or Quora, people tend to put things like Writer, Mother, Business Owner. Technically, I am all of those things, but I don’t feel comfortable sticking those labels on myself.
The only label I’ve ever felt happy to acknowledge is Translator. When I became entitled to that badge in 1993, I’d spent the previous two years telling the people who asked me what I did, “Well, at the moment I’m working in a shop,” or “Well, at the moment I’m on the dole,” or “Well, at the moment I’m doing some data entry”.
I was living in Oxford, and the people asking were mostly postgraduate students. I watched their eyes glaze over as their expectations of having an interesting conversation evaporated. I understood their disappointment because I felt it myself. They were smug arseholes and snobs, and I was too.
Anyway, the day came when I had my diploma and I was able to say “I’m a translator!” with a slightly surprised, slightly self-satisfied upward tilt at the end of the sentence. Not only was I a member of a profession, I was earning money doing it, and everyone would know I was clever and had cool skills.
The label I liked was one I felt I had earned, and one I was proud to claim because it said good things about me.
