All my life I have wondered about living. How is one supposed to live in this world? What is the point of living? Why do we exist? What am I supposed to do with this life of mine?

I say I have thought about these things all my life, and perhaps that sounds to you to be a bit outlandish. But in truth, even as a young child, I wondered. But children, you know, are not supposed to have such questions, let alone ask them.

As far back as I can remember I have always felt like an outsider, like I didn't belong. No one in my family seemed to question life the way I did. No one seemed to care what I was feeling or thinking. I was to speak when spoken to. I was to behave like a young lady. I wasn't to cry or fuss or cause a scene or do or say anything that would embarrass my parents. And most of the time, I didn't.

Sure there were the typical childhood stunts, like the night I pushed a bead off of my bracelet so far up my nose we had to go to the emergency room to have it removed. And the day my mom put my hair in an old-lady bun fashion, and I cried and stomped so loudly around the house she yanked it out - none too gently - and told me to go ahead and be ugly. But by and large, I was a good girl. I was afraid not to be.

I guess I have been blessed with a strong intelligence and vivid imagination. But blessings are also burdens. Often throughout my life I have prayed to be normal -- whatever "normal" is. And I guess there you have it: I don't think I'm normal. I've never thought I was normal. I have always felt drawn to more than what is.

Now in my middle ages, I find myself wondering who I have been. If I can just grasp the pattern of my life's journey, perhaps I can understand who I am now. And perhaps I can finally become the person I am meant to be.