I’m the product of my environment. I’m a youngest sister who grew up watching my oldest sisters walk through life, as I tried to place my small feet perfectly in their footprints. I’ve watched my mom at work for over a decade, rearranging spaces and making houses in homes with ease. I’ve observed my dad create handy mechanisms and solutions to fix the backyard fence in a pinch. Every day, I find myself acting in minor ways that mirror the mannerisms of those I love.
I remember being so upset when learning the cursive alphabet. I couldn’t understand why the P’s, the initial letter of my first, middle, and last name, were so boring. There were no fun swirls or accents that excited me. I felt uninspired by every variation of the signature I was attempting to develop. At around 15 years old, I watched my oldest sister Piper, who had always been a natural-born calligrapher, write her signature. I was amazed by her effortless ability to make the once ugly P into a swirling, imaginative, small piece of art. I practiced “Piper’s P” repeatedly at the top of my homework assignments and in the margins of my books. As I stepped up to the counter on the day of my driver’s permit test, I carefully, yet confidently drew my signature, beginning my first and last name with two of “Piper’s P’s.” Piper quite literally is a defining piece of my identity.
A challenging part about starting college is losing the support system that was once down the hallway. The loved ones that had dried your tears and picked you back up for the past 18 years were hundreds of miles away. During my freshman year, I can vividly recall a day where my best friend was having one of those horrible days that only her support system had seen before. She called me, asking me to come sit with her because she didn’t want to be alone. As I entered her dorm, I climbed on her bed with her, and without hesitation started scratching her back and head as she cried. My automatic response developed from my mom who has quieted my sobs with gentle touches and scratches ever since I could remember. Her soothing brushes always signal my body and mind that it’s time to slow down, catch my breath, and pause. My mom’s way of comforting me has taught me, in many ways, how to be a support system for others. I notice in times like these, when I can step up and develop her ability to communicate support without words.
My roommate was recently experiencing peak midterm-season stress, so I immediately grabbed a post-it note and pen and began writing a few words of admiration and encouragement. I have a collection of sticky notes and a letter writing kit at hand for leaving messages to roommates, friends, and family. This habit didn’t develop from a sudden interest, but from years of finding miniature envelopes slid under my door. My middle sister Peyton would leave these tiny pastel notes at random, sometimes to check-in on me, and sometimes to ask if I wanted to have a sister movie night. These notes were reminders that I have someone on the other side of the door that loves me and truly cares. I’m not sure when my younger self adopted Peyton’s wholesome practice, but I think of her each time I reach for my assortment of pens and sticky notes.
Most days, I notice different quirks and qualities that have come from those I love or have loved. I notice it in the way I meticulously fold my clothes, laying them flat first and carefully following a pattern, like my dad. I hear it in the jokes I tell that were once circulated among my old high school friend group. I feel it in the way I push my shoulders back when entering a new space, like an old cheerleading coach advised me to do. I’m a natural observer, picking up on little tricks, movements, and peculiarities from the ones around me. I enjoy the fact that I’m a sum of those who do matter and have mattered most to me. I hope to continue adopting the medley of characteristics that ultimately make me me.