It’s never about chocolate — just always.

There comes a time in everyone’s life for promotion. An expansive experience, if treated as such.

Promotions are not necessarily upgrades, but they can be, depending on our own willingness to face newfound responsibility. Most likely it's a combination of pain and pleasure, both endearing and endangering. Some of us experience the pain early, some of us late.

We wiggle around like an unborn child locked inside our own world, undamaged, untouched, and unphased by the real world. We hear, but we do not understand. We look to others, we are attached. Until we become detached.

This is a story about growing up dedicated most familiarly to the woman who gave me life, but also to every woman born into the world.

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When I was little I remember thinking. I can’t wait for the day I can be in charge of my own life. A life, that to be honest only existed in the singular dimension, that is chocolate. The world was simple back then.

Being carefree was costly, however, the reward and price was freedom. I was in this constant conundrum usually resembling something along the lines of being compliantly irritated, or irritatedly compliant. Sheltered from the burdensome consequences of my own decision, I was simply unaware of what real worry looked like.

Being responsible is just as expensive, the reward and price is control. At the sober age of 12, I officially declared my legal right to chocolate. I would no longer be deprived of such a heavenly gift. In fact, that day I firmly vowed to never let anyone deny me. I was in the driver's seat, and let me tell you, the direction was in closest proximity to chocolate. Ignore the fact, that my mom actually occupied the driver's seat, and that I was merely daydreaming.

There it was. Vons. At 12, brand recognition had not fully crystalized in the sense that where you shopped really mattered. Vons may as well have been Harrods on a good day or Walmart on a bad day. It did not matter. We did not shop at Whole Foods something that I was utterly embarrassing a couple of years later when the brand was everything. For now, it did not matter, as long as the store carried high fructose corn syrup in different colors and categories.

I proudly skipped down the aisle, past the cat food, the sanitary products, and finally the Hallmark cards. I was in heaven. There it was, Recess Peanut Butter Cups, limited edition if I may add. Lindt 70% dark chocolate, maybe with a touch of sea salt would have been a more fitting choice for my self-proclaimed adulthood. But, you see at this point in my life, Lindt was not even close to a fragment of my imagination, it was not even part of my reality or frame of reference. It was simply not a choice.

So there I stood, in fake uggs and a touch of my mom’s stolen mascara, looking up in awe at the shelves of chocolate that were now mine. All these existential questions and thoughts started flooding or rather intruding into my periphery. Something along the lines of this: “How much chocolate should I buy? Maybe there is a cheaper brand. But no, I can’t buy the knock-off version of Recess. It’s just not the same taste. I don’t want to get fat? But I also want this chocolate, like now, but maybe I shouldn’t? Can I even afford this chocolate? Maybe I could steal it instead? No, I can’t steal, it’s not worth it. My parents would have to pick me up from jail, plus I would feel too much regret, not worth it.” I was in a serious crisis over everything, but chocolate. So this is what life feels like without adult supervision. It’s never about the chocolate.

I was thrust back to a time when I was younger. My uncle and aunt owned this grocery store, and they gave us free rein in the candy aisle. A child’s greatest wish come true. A million bucks does not even compete with candy at that age. My first encounter with the consequences associated with a lack of control. In this case, an expected hurl, followed by an unspectacular exit.

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Somehow, on that same day, chocolate lost its excitement. Suddenly, my chocolate consumption was arbitrarily dependent on my own control or lack thereof. I was suddenly overcome by confusion. Feeling more limitless and limited than I ever had before.

I had originally perceived my mom's preservation of my childhood, as a form of deprivation. As I have learned, the lack of chocolate is a child's problem, remove limits, and your equation looks more like calculus. In the world of infinity, grey is the new normal, because no perfect solution exists. My mom did not only give me life, she gave me a childhood. She gave me time to learn how to play. And, playing, well it seems to be the only thing we really need to know when we grow up, because, without it, we would not really be living.

So, think twice before accepting or asking for a promotion, you may not be ready to grow up just yet. Enjoy, the carefree life within boundaries while it lasts. Love is infinite, but we only have a finite time on this planet

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My mom taught me elegance, just not the typical kind.

My mom is not typical. She is her own type. She never did anything like the other moms. Never. I don’t know if she ever noticed. She just went about her life. She seemed to miss the hype, she always drummed to her own beat. She wore red pants, not jeans. She wore large butterfly necklaces, not diamonds. She cooked hot dogs together with pasta, not chocolate chip cookies. As a child, I was mortified. As an adult, I laugh, not at her, but the others. They are so typical.

My mom has never been the cultured type, she does not need external inspiration, her own art collection already lines the insides of her mind. She has a bold vision and an even bolder sense of self. She has never pretended, unlike the rest of us. Everyone can’t be typical. Everyone can’t just miraculously discover black at the same time and use it as their go-to statement piece. The color black can never be a statement piece, it's too overused. With boldness, comes a clear sense of direction, a stubbornness. My mom well, will not enter a museum, she has made up her mind. She does not like museums. It's refreshing. She will not stroll around with her nose held high, pretending to be overconsumed by art. Today, it seems that everyone is either the next Picasso or the next person inspired by him. She is of neither category. She is art.

She taught me the importance of sticking out, without trying. She taught me the importance of not focusing on trends, and of sticking to my own truth. Being honest with who I am, and not being afraid to show it. In fact, not even caring to show it, just letting my nature guide me on this journey called life.

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Now, we are no longer attached in geographic proximity, but we are always attached as twins just born at different periods of time. Going through life, and experiencing the same things, the same hurt, the same love.

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There are so many more things, so many more stories to share. But, stories that are shared are always less intricate than the true experience. So, will keep those for our own recollection. Our internal album of memories. But, I will end with this.

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A mother’s job is not to protect their children against the world, it's to introduce them. A mother's job is not to teach their children, but to listen to their children as they teach themselves about the world. A mother's job is to set their children free in the scary big world. A world that will not be so scary anymore, to a child who feels at home, not with the world but with themselves. Then no matter what the world has planned for them, they will feel safe.

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That is how you have made me feel, safe to roam free in this wild place called earth. Unbound by limitation, and bound by limitlessness.

I love you Mom, more than the life you have given me. But, all I can possibly do to thank you is to live it fully.

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