I sometimes wonder what goes in to the making of a successful person. Nature, nurture, genetics, and location all must play some role, but what role? Can we put some of it down to a choice? How much do we have to be given at birth, how much do we need from our parents, and how much is simple, dumb luck? Are some of us just born to prosper or do we make our fate over coffee and toast each morning? I feel like I've made my life what it is by determined daily toul. I am what I am because I said I would be. This person I am sprung from my toddler's braindwaves Athenian in nature. It's clear that my choices led me down a certain path- towards one thing and away from another.
But am I a thief? Did I steal the best parts of myself from those in my life, those who raised me? Did I reach into their souls and take what I needed to become strong? A grubby, stick, chubby fist locked around straings of my grandfather's spirit. Did my development strip them of their souls, their wisdom, their lives, as I took chunks, splinters, pieces- daily- into me?
What makes a successful person? How does one reach the top? Does it even matter, as long as we get here in the end? Looking behind me, who have I used, needed, leaned on, reguarded? What did I take from them?
My Papa's determination and focus drove me to success. My mother's care, concern, and soft-serve heart lie in my core. My father's stubborn refusal to admit flaws haunts my relationships. My grandmother's crafting heart and busy hands wile my idle house by. My teachers' styles, dispositions, and passions burn and bubble in my heart. All of it stolen, bit by bit, secreted into my squirril's cheek mind.
I am the fox and the world around me is a roost. Beware hens and protect your eggs. The fox is hungry.