Ever felt like something just doesn’t belong? The world can occasionally make us feel out of place in our own lives, but sometimes being the odd one out brings more joy than you may think.
When I told my mother I was leaving my pretty Brooklyn apartment to go live in a tent as a farming apprentice in Santa Cruz, I can’t say she was surprised. I was her black sheep daughter after all: the feisty, opinionated youngest of three girls, the adventurer, the wanderer, the one with good stories instead of a mortgage, books instead of babies. Her address book was full of my constantly changing whereabouts—San Francisco, Italy, New York—scratched out in ink, scribbled in pencil, then finally jotted on Post-it notes stuck between the pages.