Where do I come from?

I come from winding mountain roads & towns made up of a main street.

From trips through the hills, crowded into a minivan with family, looking out to landscape that my family had lived for ages.

I come from family gathered around picnic tables outside the main cabin, enjoying the annual trip until it ends so that I can look forward to next year.

From a grandma who took on the role of mother, of housewife, but never sacrificed her own being.

I come from strong women who were never afraid to take charge, women who were matriarchs instead of the traditional roles seen.

From a southern comfort zone where a pitcher of sweet tea accompanies dinner and homemade is the best way.

I come from a place where the words family and friend are interchangeable.

From a place where friends named Claire are a constant and push me to do better.

I come from a place of whispered words at night while others were sleeping, cautious of who would hear, because words can be strong.

From friends who may not be in the same stage of life as me, but nonetheless, we work.

I come from late night struggles of, “Is this how I should feel?” with chimes of “every feeling is valid.”

From long evenings that turn into long nights, with the lights off, and Hozier playing in the background, working through myself.

I come from walks throughout the seasons, sometimes laughter filling the air and sometimes irritated remarks, but always the constant sound of footsteps, steady and moving.

From long car rides with my sister where the windows are down, and the music is loud, some words are shared, the moment itself is enough.

I come from summer days spent in a hammock, thinking about struggles, but also letting the gentle sway remind me that I am in the present, with the future to come.

That’s where I come from.