A storyteller, looking for an amazing story to tell.
San Diego was the perfect backdrop for my childhood. Its long temperate days and balmy nights provided the space and time to grow, explore, and ride my bike from morning till night. A single mother from Mexico raised me. She was raised in a small farming community and only received a 4th-grade education. Her wisdom came from mistakes and effort. Though we were poor she somehow made it work.
The joy I was raised with was immeasurable. I look back with marvel and ask myself, how? How, with limited communication skills and minimal resources did she raise us on her own? The neighborhood was devoid of intellectual fertility; she sought out learning experiences and opportunities as best she could. We occasionally went to the library, local museum, and even family road trips. I saw and realized that she took whatever she had and stretched it to make it work. It’s from her that I inherited my hard-work ethos and artistic proclivities. I’m also sure that my creativity was passed on from her skill of somehow adapting.
I think adaptability was one of the best skills she gave me, and I’m truly grateful. By example, she taught us that we weren’t defined or shaped by our poverty. We were raised to recognize and understand, that despite limitations, working hard, thinking things through, and looking at circumstances differently and creatively, one could do more.