Are we truly unique, or are we mosaics of everyone we’ve ever known?

If I’m honest, I’d like to believe the latter.

I want a home like my grandma’s where there’s always a seat at the table, and no one has to wonder if they belong.

I want to cook like my mom—never asking if you’re hungry, just setting a place in front of you certain that you are.

I want to be as free as my husband always was,

brave like my brother,

witty like another,

warm like one,

honest like the next.

I want to be direct, yet gentle.

Funny, yet kind. Creative, yet grounded. Bold yet gracious.

So I’ll take pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, and let them form the mosaic of me.