When I was young and pliable, I was told I could be anything. That I had all the tools needed to be ultra successful. I was the type of kid who found validation in pleasing the authority figures in my life, so my vision of success was what I imagined their vision of success was. I imagined my dad being most proud of me in a power suit and a leather briefcase, with a slew of initials next to my name. I assumed my mom’s proudest moment would be sitting next to me in the delivery room as I welcomed my firstborn. I’d be twenty-four, like she was.
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Peanut Butter for the Soul 