Updated: Aug. 3, 2020
Originally Published: April 26, 2018
There was a moment when I realized for certain that my mom and I are worlds apart. Picture this: I’m atop the dining room table, shrieking like a small child, while my mother calmly captures a mouse with her bare hands—no gloves, no fuss. Who does that? Meanwhile, I’m ready to sell my house and move to a different town.
You know the saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”? Well, when I fell from the tree, I rolled all the way down the hill and ended up in a completely different neighborhood. Sure, people often say I look like my mom—we share the same red hair and freckled complexion—but aside from that, we couldn’t be more different.
From our hobbies to our tastes, it quickly became clear that we are a strikingly contrasting mother-daughter pair. I like to affectionately call her my Wilderness Woman. She once lived on a mountain in a rustic cabin surrounded by nature. Her “she shed” is a blend of taxidermy from her many hunting exploits and cabin-style decor. Mine, on the other hand, is a blend of classic and modern styles—some might say it’s dull, with its sparse walls and neutral tones, but there are definitely no antlers or fur in sight.
Open our closets, and you’ll find two wardrobes that reflect our distinct lifestyles. While I favor tweed, she opts for camouflage. My stylish heels stand in stark contrast to her beloved Crocs. Instead of sending me gift ideas via email, she hands me a hunting magazine with circled items of her favorite gear. When I mentioned getting a Keratin treatment, she thought I was referring to a metal container filled with carrots.
Despite our differences, we genuinely enjoy each other’s company—even if her idea of a good time is hiking through the woods while I prefer binge-watching the latest hit series. Our conversations often start with, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” (Her: “I shot him broadside; now I have to quarter him and keep the rack.” Me: “I crowdsourced stories for a timely article I’m pitching to a literary magazine.”)
Rather than fighting against our differences, we’ve learned to embrace and celebrate them. My mother possesses a green thumb that I simply do not have; she’s helped landscape my home and is my go-to for questions like, “How often do I water my hanging plants?” Conversely, she turns to me for writing help and fashion advice that’s not camo-related.
I am certainly not a mirror image of my mother, and in all honesty, that might be for the best. I used to envy mother-daughter pairs with shared interests, but maturity has taught me that wishing for someone to conform to a different mold can lead to disappointment. Yes, my mom and I are like day and night, but our mutual respect and our desire for each other’s happiness have nurtured a loving relationship.
There are times I wonder how I could have come from her. Like when she created a homemade plaster cast of a bear print she discovered in the yard—meanwhile, I wouldn’t go near a bear print if my life depended on it. She’s a true outdoors enthusiast, while I prefer the comforts of indoor living.
Where she zigs, I zag. And what’s wrong with that? Absolutely nothing.
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In summary, while my mother and I may be vastly different in many ways, our unique traits have fostered a strong and loving relationship that celebrates our individuality.