Today feels like a pivotal moment in American politics, reminding me that we see the world through our unique lens. Our perspectives are shaped by gender, race, religion, and even where we live or travel.

This summer, I attended the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, where I wrote a piece exploring two different perspectives on the same incident. It’s not political, but it highlights how our minds can shape and sometimes distort our viewpoints.

In 2013, I shipped a plastic tube filled with my DNA off to 23andMe in hopes of finding a birth relative. Instead of a connection, I discovered that I carry one copy of the ε4 variant in my APOE gene, slightly increasing my odds of developing Alzheimer’s Disease. My adoption never afforded me any insight into my genes. I didn’t know that Alzheimer’s ran rampant in my bloodline, which further increased my risk of developing the disease. A groundbreaking study may prove that I am not doomed to a future of cognitive decline.

My mother-in-law was overt with her feelings about adoption. When my husband and I decided to adopt a baby, we planned a trip to tell his parents in person. Our excitement was met with a pursed face and the statement, "Having your own children would be best." Best? What did she mean? She knew that I was adopted, and now she seemed to question my goodness. Love was supposed to conquer all. Adoptees are supposed to be blank slates ready to be molded by new families. But even my mother-in-law knew we came with unknown baggage. She was just being honest about it.

Second choice.

It feels good to get recognition, especially as an Indie writer. I am not new to writing, but much of my writing ends up in technical journals, and those journals have a steady following and a marketing team. I hand everything off. My job is done. Marketing Storked! was the challenge I didn’t see coming.

My first attempt to access my adoption records was met with, “Sorry, no. It is against Florida Law (F.S. 63.162) to disclose identifying information without a court order or written consent of all parties involved.” When writing Storked!, I did a deep dive into the history of Florida’s adoption laws. I wanted to know more about F.S. 63.162, only to discover that the statute didn’t exist when my adoption was finalized.

My dad was supposed to live forever. He has always been my protector, my supporter. Now our roles are reversed. He is the last surviving parent to succumb to the cruel effects of cognitive decline. He is forgetting his words. He is losing his balance. He is losing his ability to organize his life. A year ago, I walked into my childhood home to find every horizontal surface covered with paper – sheets laid out so carefully that maybe he could see the order in the disorder. Dementia has quickly surrounded me from all sides, and I am left defenseless.

It has been six months since Storked! was published. While the book didn’t skyrocket straight to the New York Times Bestseller’s list (let’s face it, I’m not Prince Harry), two amazing things happened.

Not all adoption law is created equal. Where does your State stand?

I have this recurring dream. In it, I am standing in a stark white room next to a bright, lemon-colored rotary dial desk phone. At least, I think it’s me.