By the very nature of what they do, I find that writers are typically curious beings. I’m the type of person who can spend hours people watching, the one who observes but doesn’t necessarily feel the need to say a lot. Experiencing new cultures and exploring new cities makes me feel alive.
Adoption plays a role in my new novel but interestingly enough, my own adoption is one thing I’ve never really questioned. This always seems to surprise people, especially when I tell them I’m a writer.
But don’t you wonder about your real parents? I get that one a lot. For the record, my ‘real’ parents are the two people who raised me, and no, I don’t particularly wonder about my biological parents. It’s a hard spot to find yourself in. I’ve been called an ungrateful brat, others have proclaimed that I must be afraid of rejection, even more have said that I refuse because I’m angry. I can’t say I believe I’m any of the above. Adoption is something that happened to me as an infant, but it isn’t who I am. It doesn’t define me, who I’ve become, or even who I strive to be.
I won’t tell you I’m the most well-adjusted person you’ll ever meet. I mean, hello –I’m a writer. I’m totally OCD. I tend to be neurotic… I’m definitely a little eccentric, and god knows I have my issues. And I’m happy.
I don’t have all the answers. Some adoptees have had experiences that are the polar opposite of mine –I don’t doubt that. My parents have always been open with me and have said that would support a reunion. Perhaps one day I’ll change my mind, but as it stands, I have no reason to seek it nor do I crave it.
This is just a bit of insight in to who I am. I’ll be posting more of my thoughts on adoption as time goes on and I start talking more about my book. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.