Someone asked me yesterday what I was like as a child. Was I petulant, rebellious, compliant? What words would I use to describe myself? It was a question that I both felt I should be able to answer instantly and one that I really had to think about for a moment. How would I describe myself as a child and, as I thought about it, how many of those words and descriptions would still be applicable to the person I am now?

The first thing that came to mind were the words I heard my mother say, over and over again. “Light somewhere. Please light somewhere,” which often had a tone of exasperation. Sitting still was never one of my strengths. I hate to be idle, I don’t know what to do with myself if I have nothing to do so I find something to do. That can take a lot of forms. I’ll give you some examples. It goes without saying, I think, that I am a terrible passenger on long car trips. I climb from the front seat to the back, I move restlessly around and I have even been known to launch into my own version of Christmas carols, the words of which I sort of know and sort of don’t know. Thankfully, I can read in the car and in the pre-Kindle days, I would have books and magazines at the ready. When clip on book lights became an option, that was even better. One long drive I remember well. I ran out of things to read and I was (apparently) pretty antsy. My husband pulled off the highway, found a town and found a bookstore out of what he would call “pure survival instinct!”

Today, as I stay inside while the snow comes down, I have baked two loaves of bread, cleaned three closets and am halfway through a new book and it is not quite 2:00 p.m. I remember a friend, who was a psychologist, once telling me that maybe I should try some of the (at that time) new medication for ADHD. Why on earth would I do that, I wondered. I know who I am and I know how to cope with that, for good and for ill!

I know that I was fortunate to have parents who tolerated me the way I was and the way I am, the challenge of being a poor sleeper, the challenge of a child who was constantly busy and constantly talking, the behaviors that led me to find an entire drawer of “apology notes” from me in my mom’s dresser, after she died. I was also fortunate that I was always encouraged to find my own ways to cope and I did and I have.

A friend of mine once told me that she thought I was “addicted to busy” and I accepted those words and that concept for a long time. I now recognize that I am not addicted to busy, this is not a habit or a behavior I’ve fallen into. This is who I am, who I have always been and, likely, who I will always be. Knowing who we are, understanding the threads that run through us and through our lives give us the fuel to fill our full hearts.