i n • p u r s u i t

I'm sitting here as my children are supposed to be napping, but instead are playing. But they're behind a closed door and they're happy, so I'm letting it be. I'm also sitting here as I should be doing housework. I have a pile of unfolded laundry right in front of me and there are crumbs on the hardwood floor that were painful to trod upon in the dark as I attended to a crying Ruthie last night. I've been thinking lately about the lies I have come to believe lately. The negative things that I tell myself about who I am.  I'm just an unmotivated individual. I used to like to write, but I can't string words together like I used to. I wish I was neat, but I'm a messy person. That's just a few. But there's more. I'm not important. I don't know. I can't figure that out on my own. I don't have a lot to say. I don't have an opinion. Anyway. Right now I'm thinking about the one where I tell to myself...

Throughout my childhood, I was left behind or forgotten. When I was five years old, we lived in Guam. One night, we were at church having a birthday party for our priest, Father Roberto. I went to use the bathroom and when I came back out, my parents were no longer in the big room. So, I remember going to the parking lot to look for them. I have a very clear memory of crying as I watched the tail lights of our conversion van fading into the darkness. What had happened, apparently, was that everyone piled into the van (and apparently a couple of neighbor friends were with us) and before my dad drove off he said, "Is everyone here?" And everyone that was there said, "Yes!" Thankfully, a family friend saw me immediately brought me home. Several years and two moves later, we were living in Iceland. I was in 7th grade at A. T. Mahan high school at NAS Keflavik, Iceland. Our school had a school-wide field trip day and there were four trips you could choose from. M...