I’m a communications specialist. I give media interviews, work with advertisers and from time-to-time, I represent my agency. You’d never guess it when I step in front of a camera or turn into a bulldog if a reporter or writer tries to hassle one of my coworkers for information we can’t legally share, but I am an introvert. I’m a little bit shy. I spend a lot more time conversing in my own head than I do with the world. 

I think it’s safe to say most of us have preconceived notions of how our lives will turn out. Some people grow up dreaming of becoming star athletes, others of successful careers, many of making families to call their own. If you’re part of the minority and are unfathomably lucky, you can have all three. The rest of us have to learn to adapt and readjust our expectations and our dreams, which is sometimes easier said than done.

My mom died on Oct. 30, 2008. 

I was 19, on the cusp of 20. Just old enough to have a touch of adulthood figured out. Just young enough to have no idea what the hell I was doing yet.