// things my mother has taught me.
It is bright and early in NYC and as I lay here, unable to sleep for all of the butterflies that are moving and bustling about in my tummy, mimicking the cars buzzing about beneath me, I think of my mother.
There are so many memories being conjured as I
sleep lay wide awake at 6 am, awaiting the sun’s company–memories of lasagna, memories of the time I was certain that she loved my older sister more than me (she did buy her the Scooby Doo swimsuit, after all!), the memories are flooding as I relive the post-graduation trip to Rome and walking around the entire city, her stubbornness disallowing any request for direction, coupled with visions of simpler times as I fall asleep on her hap, defeated by schoolwork, my young “love” life, and failed friendships.
As I sit here on this twin bed, with its new scratchy sheets, staring out over the Hudson river, while the sun slowly peeks above the buildings, I think of my mother. She has taught me to chase the impossible and pick myself up when I make mistakes. She has given me the opportunity to pursue my dreams and to cautiously, yet boldly move forward. She has taught me to live, sans fear of what might come.
As I finished packing yesterday, she snuck this tiny fragile glass pig into my bag, named Penelope. With it, was a note: “With her head-strong determination and good fortune, Penelope is the perfect depiction of overcoming impossible odds!”