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Depending on when you met me, I would have been an aspiring child preacher, an avid reader of picture books, a reluctant reader of required reading, a remedial kid in and out of detention and suspension, an aspiring musician with no discipline, a skeptical yet motivated United States Army Soldier, a bitter United States Army Sergeant, an aimless veteran, a community college dropout, a part-timer and a full-time smoker, a scared new father, an oysterman, a determined older student, a writing tutor, now an aspiring teacher while I teach.

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Depending on when you met me, I might have been skipping down the sidewalk in a hand-smocked dress sewn lovingly by my mother, perched in my father’s lap, listening to Paddington and Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, searching for beach glass and skipping stones on Peaks Island in Maine with my older sister.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been wielding my two-handed backhand during a high school tennis match, proudly walking across the stage at Wheaton College (MA) and Lesley University commencements, tucking into haggis, tatties, and neeps while studying the poetry of Robert Burns at the University of Stirling in my motherland of Scotland.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been crouched terrified, yet enraptured, on the floor of a Ugandan rainforest with a family of mountain gorillas, on my hands and knees digging for Roman artifacts along Hadrian’s Wall in Northumberland during an Olympic and Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee summer, or hiking the Southwest Coast Path and fossiling on the Jurassic Coast of England, following in Mary Anning's footsteps.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been gathered around a vernal pool teeming with life with a gaggle of Kindergarten scientists, nurturing my inner bird nerd at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, or scribbling haiku and tanka with an Inkjoy in my notebook on the shores of Walden Pond.

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Depending on when you met me,
I might have been:

A five-year-old sitting alone on a stoop,
Tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth,
Brow furrowed in concentration,
As she fought to master the art
Of shoelace-tying...

A ten-year-old grade five, terrified
To be starting at her fourth new school,
This time in a different province,
And enduring the stares of those
Who'd all grown up together...

A fifteen-year-old writing in a middle-school library,
Churning out lunch-time pages for an anxious crowd,
The latest installment of a soap opera
Starring Duran Duran
Taking acceptance where she could get it...

A twenty-year-old security guard, doing outside rounds
Of a fifty-acre psychiatric hospital property,
Swinging a Detex clock and breathing in fog,
Silently begging the shadows not to move, and her
Fellow guards not to prank...

A twenty-five-year-old tour guide,
Wearing a mishmash of "historic costume",
Biting her tongue behind the wide smile,
As those who had just been rude asked,
"Can you tell me where to go?" ...

A thirty-year-old substitute teacher,
Wheeling AV carts through crowded halls,
Asking strangers to unlock classroom doors,
Ignoring "Don't smile until Christmas,"
And learning to teach math in French on the fly...

A thirty-five-year singing Duranie,
In a university stadium in Northern Virginia,
Finally seeing the original band members
Twenty years after screaming herself hoarse
At LiveAid on television...

A forty-year-old crisis intervention worker,
Answering middle-of-the-night calls
At the domestic violence shelter
A resource of resources, and
Powered by energy drinks...

A forty-five-year-old brain injury survivor,
Parking in the lot at Walden Pond for the first time,
Blinking in disbelief, relief and sheer joy,
Having made it there entirely under her own power,
And not been squashed like Frogger on the I-95...

A fifty-year-old pandemic recluse
Staring at a screen full of rectangular strangers,
All teacher-writers with words to share,
With her feeling like the first day of grade five again,
Not knowing that they were all her friends already.

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Depending on when you met me, I might’ve been obsessed with Dolphins, knew every word to every Spice Girls song, read every American Girl book, and played with dolls constantly inventing stories. I might’ve been lost in a book, hoping to win the summer reading prize at the local library.

Depending on when you met me, I might’ve been listening to angsty headphones feeling constantly misunderstood, and trying to find my place: alternative, popular, hipster. I might’ve highlighted my hair and worn Juicy suits or started a Green club to promote recycling leaning into environmentalism or listening to pop music but pretending it was some band no one had heard of.

Depending on when you met me, I might’ve been in a sorority curling my hair and wearing skinny jeans and dresses and insisting I had to have Lululemon yoga pants. I might’ve been in the theatre longing to be on stage, but finding my heartbeat for directing and making the action happen. I might’ve been singing in a choir and finally feeling part of something extraordinary.

Depending on when you met me, I might’ve lived in California, or Paris, or New York. I might’ve been traveling the world, proving people wring, picking myself up after naysayers knocked me down. I might’ve been teaching high school in a pandemic watching the solid ground of my early teaching career crumble as I tried to find my way back again.

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Depending on when you met me, I might have been: dressed as a twin with my one year and 19 days older sister, the girl with the pin curls and crooked teeth (see picture!), a drum major who ran out of gas while running home to get her whistle for a parade, a student voted Most Likely to Succeed, sporting a Farah Fawcett hairdo, a high school doubles tennis player, a McDonald's employee who was sexually harassed during a time when no one talked about harassment, an Alpha Phi, A Butler University graduate with a two-year degree earned in four years, a college graduate with student loan debt, a retail manager who was Manager of the Year, eloping with her husband, a stay-at-home-mom, a 40-year old college student, a mother who earned a Master's degree with her daughter, a teacher, a reader, and a writer.

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Depending on when you met me I might have been...

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Depending on when you met me I might have been...

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Sleeping in a drawer on the floor of a tiny apartment because my dad was a grad student, the new kid at four elementary schools, the one who developed a fever every day of grade 2 PE and got to go to the nursery school my mom worked at then to hang out, the one who beat everyone else in my third grade class in arm wrestling, the one with a crooked pixie haircut and a huge overbite taking over as Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island, because the boy who had the part had hit someone in the head with a hockey stick and was kicked out (my only starring role on stage ever), a proud snake owner of Igor the 1st and Igor the 3rd (my sister had the 2nd), NOT a nail biter for just enough days to "earn" a cat reward.

I might have been the new kid again in grade 7, on the volleyball team, but only for a day, a bus rider, going to Red Sox games and Harvard Square just because I could, the kid whose house was the high school party house, because then my mom knew where we were.

I might have been a waitress, a worker in the hospital kitchen, a McDonald's cashier, a camp counselor, a babysitter, an RA, sorting mail in the dorm, security, or a foolish hitchhiker who knew better. The one who was told she was "too smart to be a teacher", but knew that was what she wanted most of all, security or an usher at an outdoor concert arena, a zombie mom at a haunted hayride.

I might have been an excited exchange student in Hull, England where my love of travel was nurtured, a brand new teacher in Maryland who knew nobody, married, with one child born in Amsterdam, the other in Hong Kong, a stay at home mom for 7 years, then six moves and four countries later a single mom with two teenage sons, still a teacher. At one point I was even the voice of God in a snippet from The Book of Mormon supported by framily as I clearly could not dance or sing.

I might have been an empty nester still moving, teaching, reading, and writing, because there is still more to see and be!

Depending on when you met me you might see that I am still me!

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Depending on when you met me, I might have been: a “Most Beautiful Baby” trophy winner, a three year old blown off course in an air balloon, a toddler proudly holding a pair of scissors and a chunk of my sister’s hair in my hands, or the shy oldest sibling waiting for her younger sister to ask for things for me.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been: working a cash register, depositing your refill of iced tea, or even filing away your admissions letter from the Graduate school, I may have even been your teacher.

Or I might have been hefting a cello onto a big yellow school bus, tip-tapping backstage of the latest dance recital, donning my shamrock green soccer jersey, receiving the Editor of the Year award or the frizzy haired drama student taking her final bow.

Another time you met me, I was probably a voracious reader, a baker, a chef, an alto, a Bingo queen and a Bunko fiend, along with being the sniper of Silent Auctions at every school or church event, before spending my evenings chatting with friends online.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been: watching Star Trek with my Pawpaw, waiting to get autographs at ComicCon, surrounded by my fellow cosplayers, and being an all around giant nerd.

I’m a novelist now, but you might have met me when I was a keeper of diaries, a penpal, a blogger, a poet, an essayist, a roleplayer, a fanfic writer, or even a playwright.

Depending on when you met me, I might have decided to tell you to ask me again tomorrow.

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Depending on when you met me, I might have been: Chasing a calf around a rodeo ring, the first to graduate college in my family (and whose mother did not have film in the camera to capture the momentous event), a river rapids ride operator at Six Flags, a tree fort builder (until a snake decided to cohabitate), a real estate agent, a ballerina, a mother of two Golden Gophers, president of the PTA, an employment recruiter, a self-taught quilter, president of the Duran Duran fan club (ok, not officially, but close enough), a rule follower, a life coach, a gardener of more flowers in the garden than vegetable plants, a maid of honor while 8 ½ months pregnant, a teacher of the year, someone who watched her best friend succumb to lung cancer (who never smoked a day in her life), someone who was afraid to fail, UNO champion of the world (again, not officially official), a violinist, a pessimist, an optimist, a college professor and a 4th grade teacher (at the same time), a stay-at-home mom, a 45 year old at a Duran Duran concert (NOT the same as when I was 16), a caregiver to a stepfather with dementia, someone who did only what would make others happy (for her own happiness was not as important), someone who discovered that life is short and what she wants is important too, so forget doing only what makes others happy -- my own happiness comes first.