Even when we’re not steering, we’re still moving, just not necessarily where we meant to go.
For a long time, I thought responding to what was in front of me was the same thing as choosing. I handled what showed up. I adjusted to the space I was in. I moved forward because that’s what you do. I didn’t stop to ask whether I was directing anything or simply drifting with it.
Adapting came naturally to me. There were stretches of childhood when I wasn’t living with my mother and sisters. I stayed with other family members while decisions were being made that I wasn’t included in. I don’t remember dramatic conversations. I remember understanding that I was somewhere else and not knowing how long that would last. When you’re young, you don’t analyze what that means. You learn the rhythm of the house. You match it. You try to be easy to accommodate.
That ability followed me.
I was bused to a magnet school, which meant I spent my days in one world and my afternoons in another. The expectations were different. The language was different. The tone was different. By the time I returned to my local school years later, I was ahead academically but slightly out of step socially. I spoke differently. I carried myself differently. I didn’t fully belong in either space, but I knew how to function in both.
It took me much longer to see how much energy it takes to constantly translate yourself.
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