Growing up in the middle of five siblings and having an old-fashioned name set me up for a lifetime of struggle.
Struggling for attention. Struggling for a place to fit in. Struggling to accept that I'd always have to spell my name for others because it is different.
No, it's not Paula; No, not Colleen.
But that was then. Nowadays (with all due respect) I am grateful for not having been named Debbie or Mary or Sue. Those names just wouldn't do.
I am also grateful for being different.
Living in the flat lands of the Midwest, was not a good fit for me. As soon as I figured out there were places with mountains and beaches, I began plotting my escape by visualizing my new environment--and working two jobs to make it happen.
So, in 1980, with camping gear, skis and bicycle, I loaded up my car and headed west--the place for me to be.
Looking back on those earliest years in the Midwest, I can see clearly now. Being different was my place in the birth order. Not the oldest child, not the first daughter, not the black sheep (sorry Dan!) and not the baby, I was born to be The Different One.
A good fit and it's made all the difference!
