When I think about where I come from, I think about my mother, and I think about the north. My mother was born in Alaska. My mother's father, grandpa John, was born in Alaska. His mother, great grandmother Selma, was born in Alaska. And before her, my ancestors for the past 10,000 years plus come from the north, from Alaska. Somewhere beyond memory, faded into the very fabric of family history, exists my Inuit mother. My great great great great grandmother. She lived a full life and experienced all the universal moments of being human, all the feelings of hope, sorrow, peace, conflict, love, pain, and so on and so forth.
I believe that all the moments we have as humans are the same. Difference arises from expression, and only in our unique expression do we create a multitude of variation. But in the end, in its fundamental form, all the moments of existence are shared. I like to believe that I can share my great great great great grandmother's experience of being an inuit girl watching the clouds drift across the northern sky. I like to believe that she shows up across the genetic code and is still a part of the migration from generation to generation. Sometimes I see her in my mother's face, and sometimes she gazes at the stars of her youth, through the eyes of her distant great great great grandson.