Traces of You in Me

Humans are quite endearing little creatures when you stop to think about it.

Have you noticed that we are simply the sum total of all the people we have ever loved? Who have ever loved us? If I take the time and intention to notice each singular habit, I can see traces of those I love (whether presently or from many years ago) scattered throughout my daily moments. We may never know the lasting impact our words or actions or preferences have on someone else. Isn’t it magical to imagine that there must be at least a handful of souls we have not yet met who may forever change our taste in music, the brand of soap we buy, or or how we say we’re sorry.

Of course, our parents are our most impactful influences, as it is their role to raise us. They are tasked with the immense responsibility of molding an innocent and perfect baby into an acceptable adult suited for life here on Earth—bland, beautiful, confusing Earth. None of us can escape the influence of our parents, for better or for worse, on any one day of our lives. Beginning with the color of light reflected in our eyes, the way each strand of hair curls in a particular pattern, the vantage point from which we see the world. My mom interacts with life at 5 feet nothing off the ground, while my father’s perspective is 12 inches higher. I stand exactly halfway between them at a solid 5’6”, a marker of their equal contribution to the making of my bones.

Many of the moments that stick with us for the rest of our lives pass by inconsequentially at the time. I could never have predicted that my beautiful blond bestie girl’s caffeine addiction as a high schooler would eventually lead to my own. It started in her parents’ kitchen, barefoot and rushing to get to our summer camp counselor jobs at our old elementary school, where we first met as kindergarteners. I had slept over the night before, as I had a million times before. I knew her family’s rhythms and routines as well as my own. I recognized the sweet and potent smell of her dad’s cold brew coffee wafting from the fridge. Sarah poured herself a glass in a red solo cup with that smooth cubed ice, the kind that can only be found in an in-home icemaker. She added a splash of milk and sweetened it just right before we headed to our day of sweating in KFN t-shirts, giggling at the boy counselors across the field, and wrangling preschoolers. I was addicted to the tiny caffeine rush immediately, and I have never grown out of it. Seventeen years later, I still only ever want my coffee cold.

The traces of other humans I’ve known mark my day-to-day habits, and I happily welcome them each time they come:

Sometimes, when I feel particularly nostalgic or angsty, I listen to My Chemical Romance—a band I loved as a pre-teen because my longtime crush loved them. I colored my nails with black sharpie and wore eyeliner, like, one time and called myself “punk” for about a month. I still listen to those songs and remember my seventh grade heart skipping a beat, trying on this new persona.

I always bring Pillsbury chocolate chip cookies to gatherings with friends. They are easy, cheap, delicious, and truly a crowd favorite. I ate these growing up because my mom’s best friend loved them. They always make me think of her, with her soft, tan skin and sparkling eyes; she was beautiful and still is. I hope my son’s friends will one day remember me by these sweet treats, too.

A college professor once taught our education class that we must always assume children can’t do something yet, not that they won’t. This perspective has served me well with both children and adults: maybe that person is still learning how to do something or how to communicate, rather than simply refusing to use learned skills. It helps me bring compassion to challenging moments.

The most difficult student I ever taught was raised by a single mother. I adored him, and I channel her strength each time my toddler throws a tantrum.

I love to paint, a passion I learned from watching my grandmother create beautiful works of art that adorn her home.

A girl I met while studying abroad introduced me to one of my very favorite books to this day, a heart-wrenching story that made me see the world differently.

My best friend taught me how to do winged eyeliner. I always think of her when I get dressed up.

One of my favorite coffee shops was suggested to me by a random first date. We never talked again, but I do love that coffee. I sometimes look for him when I go there.

Most nights, I set up my laptop and watch a show while I take a long bath. One of my dear friends showed me that trick.

I learned my affinity for writing when I began scribbling love letters into a shared notebook with my military boyfriend while he was deployed. He made me believe I just might have a skill to hone.

My eyes are my mother’s, which I also passed down to my son. My confidence can be attributed to my father’s unyielding effort to force me to show up without fear, or feeling scared and doing it anyway. A therapist taught me that not everything has to fit neatly into one box. And one of the most special people I have ever met showed me that I am safe to be seen, because he saw me in my truest form.

In every moment, in each breath we share, we are shaping those around us. Hopefully, for the better. Hopefully, strangers and lovers and friends can look back at their lives and pick out the instances when you or I impacted them in some small way. As the saying goes, we really are just walking each other home. What a privilege to leave but a brief imprint on your story. You have certainly left one on mine.