My grandmother called me Miss America when we watched pageants together. It made me feel special. Then a contestant answered how she’d make the world better. Her response was beautiful and moving, exposing a seam of reality. I would never stand on stage and paint a vision like that. My grandmother wanted me to believe I could be anything. I don’t think she realized that she’d set a goal that I never asked for. I still don’t know who I want to become. Other people’s versions of me have crowded out my ability to know what that might have been.
