I am from noisy dinner tables, comforting warm hugs, overly excited weekend bags packed and heavy sighs of relief upon returning home.
I am from calloused hard working hands and long beautiful words.
I am from footprints in the sand, ladybugs and a bushel and a peck.
I am from burnt bread, Chinese noodle cookies, blueberry pancakes and half eaten broccoli slipped under the table to the dog.
I am from stifling uniforms and fancy jazz shoes.
I am from camp fires, board games, decks of cards and countless wonder years.
The pictures of my life tell a surface story, but the lessons lurk behind the smiles. The scars of wisdom leave imprints on my heart, marks of what lies deeper.
I have danced through days and survived lonely nights.
I have battled heavy legal books and filled empty computer screens with lovely words.
I have been a punching bag, a shoulder to lean on and an ear to bend; just as often as I’ve needed the bag, the shoulder and the ear.
I have been absolutely certain and I have been utterly lost.
I have felt the praise of highest honors and the desperation of not making the cut.
I have lived scary beginnings, confident middles, and bittersweet endings. Peppered with self doubt, over-zealous mistakes, content memories and pure happiness; all imperfectly scattered through my life.
I have neatly fold wisdom, hope, questions, uncertainly and fear into piles, and gingerly packed them into the baggage of my life.
This is where I am from.
This is what I have carried.
This is my story.