Growing up, I was always celebrating a doll’s birthday with friends. Those parties sponsored by my mom felt like the biggest events in the world. There was food everywhere, laughter moving from one corner to another, and music playing loudly from my uncle’s musical set. We were happy. Purely happy. I would walk around with my little list, thinking carefully about what needed to be done next. Who would sit where? What food should come out first? What game would we play? Forget about the spellings back then; let’s talk about the coordination. Without even realizing it, I was learning how to bring people together.
I was also always excited about reading. My dad would buy me books, and I treated each one like a treasure. But reading alone was never enough for me. I wanted conversations after the reading. I wanted to discuss the characters, the lessons, and the emotions hidden between the pages. I loved writing too. I created characters and always had a story going on in my mind.
Every little thing could become a full story to me. I remember writing about what happened to our bus driver after hearing all the different rumors people were spreading around. Everybody had their own version of the story, and somehow I gathered them all together and turned them into one dramatic essay that made my teachers laugh. Looking back now, it is funny and beautiful at the same time. I guess 8 or 9-year-old me was already preparing for a career in storytelling without even knowing it.
Sometimes people would ask questions about things they were interested in, and I would explain with so much excitement that I did not notice I was slowly developing teaching skills. Looking back now, I can see it clearly. The gifts were already there, showing themselves in small everyday moments.
Other children had their own interests too. Some loved cooking. Some loved dancing, singing, sewing, and crocheting, and some already had business ideas while still so young. Then there were the children who could walk into any room and instantly make everyone laugh. Their personalities carried light. They were just children doing the things that came naturally to them.
I believe we are all born with gifts. Gifts are usually the things that come naturally to us, the things we do effortlessly, the things that make us feel most alive. They say your gifts will make room for you, and I believe that deeply. But as we grow older, something changes. We begin to push ourselves into boxes that were never designed for us. We slowly trade individuality for acceptance. We start embracing the paths of others because society convinces us there is only one version of success.
Somehow, we flip the success script and turn it into one general formula. Everyone must move at the same pace. Everyone must achieve things at the same time. Everyone must follow the same pattern to prove they are doing well in life. We begin competing in races we never signed up for. We force ourselves into dreams that do not even belong to us.
But what if the real goal is not to copy what everyone else is doing? What if the real goal is to embrace our individuality and explore what already exists within us? Sometimes the things that make others happy do not bring us joy. Sometimes the life that looks successful from the outside feels empty on the inside. That is why I often ask myself, are we truly living or are we mimicking?
Because one of the saddest things would be to wake up one day and realize you lived an entire life that was never really yours. A life shaped by pressure, comparison, and expectation instead of purpose, joy, and authenticity.
Maybe the answer has always been with us from the very beginning. Hidden in the little girl planning doll parties. Hidden in the child who could not stop reading and discussing books. Hidden in the little girl creating stories out of rumors about a bus driver. Hidden in the boy making everyone laugh. Hidden in the child sewing tiny dresses or singing loudly without fear.
Maybe our gifts have always been introducing us to ourselves.
