A note to my parents

Sometimes, I feel like you do not understand me. Perhaps you do. There are days I wished you did. I wish I could come to you with my questions and get an answer that lets me know that you heard me. Perhaps this has forced me to be closer to Ange. I recognize that Ange and I challenge the traditional way to do things. Neither of us embraced the stability that a “normal” job would offer, but we are lucky to have each other to lean on, which is more stability than I could ever ask for.

You complain that we travel too much, but travel will change us for the better.

You tell us we don’t save enough, but I would never trade my memories with Ange that I may never have made if I die before I get to spend my savings.

You grab my arm to look at my scars and your face says it all. Why can’t we be simple women who stay inside, away from the unpadded ground that awaits our bare skin or the sun that darkens our fair complexion.

We take risks you would never allow if you knew about them, but we have a support group to cushion our crushed egos, a support group that includes you. Your favorite thing to tell me these days, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” I hope so too.

We do things we think we won’t like or know we won’t like, knowing that there is some discovery in the adventure of the won’t like.

I fear becoming stagnant. I fear normality (even if there are days I probably need it). I have accepted my imperfections and keep moving forward. I know you will love us despite the countless number of times we do not follow your advice; but, please know that we do consider them.

Do not worry about us. You’ve raised us the best way you knew how, and you’ve given me an amazing sister to experience the world with. We are very blessed and very happy. We get up when we fall down, and we (or should I say I) take some epic falls. We will, in our own way, make you proud.