Much to say, but where to begin? I’m an avid reader, which I attribute to my dear mom’s love of books, and despite my practical background in accounting, I consider myself a hopeful romantic. Having lived in disparate places—such as Utah, Alaska, Nevada, Arizona, Arkansas, Texas, and Washington, I’ve gathered rich material over the miles. In 2015, I became vegan.
Because studies of plant-based and/or plant-heavy diets show promising results for overall health, I encourage further research for those who are vegan-curious. But, I recognize there’s privilege in this statement. Too many areas of the United States are “food deserts,” where access to fresh fruits and vegetables is scarce. In those zones, it’s certainly more difficult to sustain veganism, but it’s not impossible. Canned, frozen, and dry goods, plus a selection of small-potted herbs, can create quick, hearty, and delicious meals at a fraction of the cost of pre-made, highly-processed, sodium-laden alternatives. These staples also reduce food and packaged waste, which is better for the environment. Have you ever wondered how long Mother Earth, our ultimate home, can sustain us once we’ve trashed her beyond repair? I certainly have.
Youthful Vulnerability: When I was four, my family moved from Delta Junction, Alaska to Las Vegas, Nevada. At six, I fell madly in love with a little boy named Brad, and we got “married” on the playground and went tadpole fishing afterward. By second grade, my family relocated to Phoenix, Arizona, where I fell madly in love with a little boy named Manuel. By the middle of third, my family was on its way to another state, where, yet again, I would fall madly in love with another little boy.
For those who are curious, my dad was NOT in the military, so we couldn’t commiserate with military kids who knew what being uprooted felt like. And, at the time, it was unusual for non-military families to move often, so we were forced to figure it out on our own. Everywhere we went seemed to operate from a different playbook, and by the time we understood the “rules,” it was time to move again.
Always being the new kid sucked! Especially for an introvert! I felt as if I were a member of a tiny, traveling circus, and my act involved kids gawking at my hand-me-down high-water corduroy pants and the way I said the word “five.” To this day, I find myself subconsciously mimicking strangers—not to make fun, but in order to blend in. And, it catches me off guard if someone comments on a long forgotten accent.
Understandably, my education suffered. I might’ve been about to learn how to diagram circles in the old school, and, days later, be flunking a test on how to diagram circles in the new one. But, worse, moving stunted my social skills—ones necessary in sustaining long-lasting friendships. My younger self decided that forming new bonds was harmful, so if I could manage to resist the urge, the countless goodbyes would be less heartbreaking.
Of course, the experiment backfired, because like most humans, I desperately wanted my own friends—especially as my brother, sisters, and I became resentful of our circumstances and adopted the mantra “every man for himself.” If one of us could be accepted faster by ignoring or mocking one of our siblings, then so be it. For years, the ground shook underneath our feet, and our psyches couldn’t help but be negatively affected. It didn’t help that our parents’ marriage was also in crisis, although they managed to stay together and reconnect as empty nesters.
For nearly fifteen years, my dad loyally worked for one of the grocery chains that merged with drug chains and began building superstores like the ones we see today. His job was to hire workers, oversee their training, manage the store until operations ran smoothly, and then start again at a new location. Sometimes, the new stores were in surrounding areas, and we could stay a little longer by living somewhere in the middle. The entire time, we couldn’t hang pictures or paint walls, because we needed to be ready to dash away as if we were skipping out on rent. And on every move, a few things got broken or lost. As an example of how discombobulating this process could be, my mom and I were buying groceries and the cashier wished us good luck on our upcoming move to another state. It was news to us! And to my dad!
When the superstore market became saturated, expansion ceased, and my dad stayed on as manager at the last store he opened in Arlington, Texas. Only two of us kids were still living at home, but our lives finally felt stable.
Talk about hubris! Less than two years later, shortly before my dad’s pension was to be fully vested, the grocery/drug chain fired him, because they could hire his replacement for half his salary. No mystery as to why Dad’s use of alcohol escalated, and sound decisions were compromised by self doubt.
To make ends meet, my parents sold their dream home in Arlington (at a loss) and moved into the small house they’d bought there in 1970. On our first transfer to Texas, they thought it’d be a perfect place to retire, and in between two moves back and forth to Arkansas, they rented it out.
The couple who lived in the house at that time were so pissed at being displaced, they wove sewing needles (without thread) inside the wall-to-wall carpets throughout the house. But that wasn’t the extent of the damage they’d done—some quite extensive—and my dad’s trust in humanity was further shaken. But my parents weren’t the type to sue, chalking losses up to the price of learning, so the costly repairs added to their money woes.
After a failed business investment, several ill-fitting jobs, multiple threats of divorce, and a macho cowboy phase (including mustache, Stetson hat, and Tony Lama boots), he finally found his footing. It would’ve been way worse had my mom quite nursing when the grocery/drug chain pressured my father into forcing her to do so. He was told that successful men didn’t allow their wives to work, and because my mother did, it reflected poorly on the company.
None of this is meant to discount the trauma experienced by kids who remain in one place with their tormentors for the whole of their school existence, or any other variation of the miseries kids (and/or parents) are subjected to while trying to survive. But those stories are for others to tell if/when they decide. I only know the truth of my own childhood, and I’m limited by what I remember and how I interpret it.
As a result of all that moving and my desperate need to belong, I began overcompensating by coming on too strong and grasping too tight, which drove people away faster than physically leaving.
I’m still learning how to set boundaries for myself, and others. Being a good friend is hard. As is allowing others to choose which type of friend they want to be with me. And whether or not I’m able and willing to accept those terms.
Throughout all this loneliness and angst, three things helped me cope. Writing, music, and humor! They are godsends!
Personal Beliefs: I’ve done some dangerous stuff throughout the years that might indicate I don’t value my life. But despite lapses in judgement, I truly believe in a higher, positive power. To me, the universal language is music, and our senses (taste, touch, sight, smell, hearing, and intuition) are proof that humans are meant to enjoy beauty. My wish is that every one of us finds joy in simple pleasures and that we will one day all unite in peace.
If you would like to contact me, please email me here. I’d love to hear from you. When time allows, I’ll respond to kindly-worded questions and notes. Thanks!