One of my favorite songs is “Humble and Kind” by Tim McGraw.

The concept isn’t new to me. In fact, years ago my mother led by example as an RN, occasionally patching up neighbor kids during her off hours. As one of her devoted children, I aimed high to make her proud.

I hit my stride soon after turning eleven, enjoying perks as library aide and safety patrol. In fifth grade, my favorite teacher nominated me for the DAR award. In sixth grade, I was elected class president of my home room. School was my sanctuary. I loved learning—which goes to show some things never change.

Scouting also kept me busy. First as a Brownie and then as a Girl Scout, I acquired badges and sold cookies door-to-door. Even exercise seemed easy back then. I rode my bike everywhere. I spent hours swimming at the public pool. I roller skated at the local rink every Friday and Saturday night. And I played third base for a winning, all-girls softball team.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. Every summer, I volunteered at Planned Parenthood, answering phones and filing. (It’s where my mother worked, and the clinic focused solely on wellness and prevention.)

While doing all of those things, I felt a part of something greater. And I witnessed and experienced the empowerment of women.

But then life hurled poo at me. I flailed and failed and reverted back to questionable instincts that can fairly be compared to when I was three and thought climbing a tree with a full bladder was a good idea.

As a result, my moral compass rusted in my twenties. I became a bully after being bullied. I cheated after being cheated on. And I lied to those who were trustworthy. Sadly, I lost some really great friends and befriended some really awful ones.

In my early thirties, I turned inward, because being around other people zapped my energy. For every hour of interaction, I needed two hours of recovery. I dreaded invitations, because I’d become so socially awkward that I blurted inappropriate comments at every event.

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it), my husband wouldn’t allow me to become a hermit. He’s an extrovert and had no intention of attending parties alone. (That’s when we created “fifteen minute warning,” but that’s for another post.)

As strange as it sounds, veganism and writing are returning me to my confident, childhood self—when possibilities seemed endless, and I believed in a wondrous world. I feel 10 years younger than I did ten years ago, and my senses have heightened dramatically. Colors are more vibrant and scents more recognizable. The natural world beckons, and I don’t want to miss any of its beauty.

My mantra these days is “grateful, humble, and kind.”