By nature, I’m a romantic.
My earliest days were spent starry-eyed and tirelessly imaginative. As my parents lovingly (and just a bit teasingly) recall, I existed in some version of Dreamland in which everything was real and nothing was impossible. And while this sounds like the beginning of a charmed tale of my childhood, that’s not necessarily the case… because the enchanting, make-believe world I thought up simultaneously spun a darker, less playful side, too. After all, if everything was real and nothing was impossible, the nightmares I had and the grimmer stories I conjured up could just as easily exist.
It’s no surprise, then, that by nurture, I am a realist.
