It is no longer an oddity to have some sort of minor glitch in one's familial relationships with parents and/or siblings. To be frank, I'm grateful that society has dropped the pretense that we all get along famously all the time (thank you, 1950s television families).
Last night, my dreams mined my subconscious for little nuggets of family arguments from as far back as 1996, but mostly items from 2005 or so. Being an Introvert in a family of very gregarious, boisterous, outgoing and creative individuals was a daunting proposition. Having moved to Seattle, Washington in 2001 (shortly after the towers fell, and yes the move was related), I was in the process of finding myself in the Great Pacific Northwest. Having been somewhat of an odd bean (to put it mildly), it was an interesting challenge to navigate all of the new social interactions of The Big Move in 2001, and then Graduate School from 2003-2006. It took a long time for me to figure out that numbers were my passion. When that finally occurred, my highly creative friends and family members understandably cried foul. It was really a way to show that they were worried, that they cared!
Discovering a love of numbers was a fascinating turn of events, especially given that I had not expected to be so moved by exploration and understanding of concrete fact rather than by creative fantasy. Even my grandmother asked me if my choice of study would really make me happy (remember, odd bean!). You'd be surprised at how often well-meaning friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and family members still question my choice.
I woke up this morning, grinning like a fool. Of all the family moments in time to remember, questions about my career path and course of study were fairly harmless. It still tickles me to think of all the things we hope for when we consider our families and our children. You just never know what you're going to get...an analyst or a musician, philosopher or comedian.
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