Born to Dream: How I Became the Family Aberration

Born to Dream: How I Became the Family Aberration - and Learned to Love It

Growing up, I was a walking, talking mystery to my family. Honestly, if my dad and I hadn’t been so close, I might’ve been written off as an alien life form left on the doorstep.

You see, my parents were the definition of hard-working, salt-of-the-earth people. Good people. Honest people. The kind of people who fixed things with duct tape and cooked dinner while doing three other things at once. My mom could stretch a dollar until it begged for mercy. My dad could fix a car engine with a shoelace and a pocketknife. And there I was: doodling in the margins of my notebook, daydreaming about far-off lands and writing dramatic poetry about the moon.

When it came time for me to "learn a trade," the recommendation was solid: secretarial work. It was practical. It made sense. It paid the bills. And it made me about as happy as a cat at a dog show.

I spent forty years (yes, four-zero, not a typo) working jobs that made me feel like a square peg hammered into a round hole. I showed up. I smiled. I typed. I filed. Inside? I was secretly composing novels, painting wild imaginary scenes in my head, and wondering if anyone else had noticed how incredibly boring everything felt. (Spoiler alert: they hadn't.)

It’s funny looking back now because the advice came from a place of love. Parents want you to survive. They want you to have roofs and shoes and insurance policies. They aren’t trying to crush your spirit — they're trying to make sure you don't have to live off instant noodles forever.

But what no one told me — what I had to learn the hard way — is that you can't duct tape your heart shut. You can try. Believe me, I tried. I built a whole career out of trying. But that little voice, that wild, inconvenient, dream-soaked voice inside you? It doesn't go away. It just gets louder. And crankier. Like an old man shouting at the clouds.

So if you're standing there right now, feeling like the oddball at the family reunion, wondering if you missed the memo about being "normal" — let me save you some time: YOU DID. And that's okay. You are meant for something different.

Love your family. Be proud of them. Hug them tight and thank them for their good advice. And then? Go chase your crazy dreams anyway. Because when you're older (and trust me, I’m on the VIP guest list for that club), it’s not the practical choices you treasure. It’s the ones where you stood up for the wild, reckless, passionate pieces of yourself.

Listen to the voice in your heart. It's the oldest, truest, most loyal friend you have.

And believe me — it tells way better stories.

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