I am an adopted person, among other things. I used to joke, "I was adopted... guess I still am since they haven't given me back...(yet)." One of the byproducts of this is that I love people-watching and have a marrow-deep fascination with the relatedness of things; how objects and people subtly and overtly change each other. Relationships between people and places are fundamental yet taken for granted. Humid summer air versus the chill-bite of the ocean; the way newspaper ink stains your fingers; trusting and naïve child accidentally reaching for the wrong adult hand in a crowd. Most of my life has been spent looking at faces to find anyone related to me. Anyone.
I love to eavesdrop. Studying people while appearing to be doing something else. Discreet, subtle, nosy.
My adoption was always known to me, no surprises there. But my search did not begin until my early 20s and culminated in 2004 with finding my natural mother, among other things. Now, years later, I am finally beginning to examine what my story has to say and deal with the aftermath of a life that started by not being wanted at all.
Driving everything: Curiosity. Why are some people valued while others are discarded? What compels someone to lie, cheat or heal?
Take care of each other.
Keep in touch, and be kind.
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