When I was born, there was a lot of commotion. There was a woman, dressed as a nurse, who went around the hospital in which I was born trying to take a newborn home for herself. According to my parents, she came into the room where my mother and I were sleeping, the miracle of birth being quite fatiguing despite its marvel, and tried to take me. Luckily, the nurse caring for my mom had heard about this imposter, and moved the rooms furniture around so that I could not be approached without my mom waking up. Wake up my mother did, startled to find a strange nurse standing over her daughter’s cradle, a nurse who fussed with a machine which had already been turned off and hurried away as soon as she could. With that sort of opening, one might expect my life to be rather exciting.
Not so. Since then, I have led a rather uneventful life. I was a shy bookworm for most of my life, excited sometimes it must be admitted into loud and random behavior. I am one of nine children, not the oldest, not the youngest, not even the dead middle, yet the number of children itself must be allowed to be unusual I suppose. My siblings are each talented and unique, they are musicians, artists, computer geeks, cool hipsters, and wacky nerds. I am quite the normal one out of the bunch, despite my boisterous attitude, love of dancing, and passion for Jane Austen. I even majored in history, which some associate with nerds who have a love affair with libraries and museums. For myself, I deny neither charge, as if I could live the rest of my life in the British Museum I would die quite happy.
As I got older, I went like most others in the US through the horribly awkward phases that were middle school and high school. I spent most of my time during these periods making up stories and watching old films, as the present was always too mundane and petty to hold my interest. Near the end of highschool I began to spend months at a time away from home, first at my eldest sister’s home then in Haiti as an intern with a medical mission group. I felt myself to be called to follow Christ more humbly during this time, as I felt that I could no longer hide my un-extraordinary self in fictional stories. I decided therefore to go to college at Wheaton College, studying history, the subject that encompassed all the stories of people that I loved.
I have studied abroad since beginning my time at Wheaton College, in England at Oxford University. There I traveled to Scotland for vacation, knit in parks, and wandered the English countryside for hours. I suppose that might be considered an adventure. On the whole however, I think I shall continue to maintain that my life is yet to be worth a biography, auto or no. For myself I would prefer to do something extraordinary first.