Irish-American New Yorkers—especially those of the Catholic persuasion—have a knack for fatalist worst-case scenarios. Maybe it’s the indigenous oppression and starvation imprinted long ago on our DNA. Maybe it’s the second-class steerage tickets to America that marked us not just for life, but for generations. Maybe it’s from perpetually feeling two lengths behind, no matter how fast we sprint. It’s most assuredly from ill-fitting plaid Catholic school uniforms and the dysfunctional religious practice of making pride—and the inherent, innocent swell of joy—sinful. For some reason, I couldn’t sleep tonight. I woke at 2 am, and assuaged the gnaw of hunger and hollowness with a half-sleeve of Ritz crackers and a glass of milk. I thought about the conflicted direction of my psyche, and about my desire for happiness forever being kicked down the road by shame. Maybe it was the saltiness of a simple cracker on my tongue, but something shifted in me during my sleeplessness tonight. No more playing it small. No more waving away compliments. No more answering “lucky shot” whenever my pickleball partner applauds me for good placement. No more dragging my soul behind me in the dust and dulling its ebullience. It’s time to turn history on its head. It’s time to lead with this: an abusive childhood taught me compassion and resilience.  A ’70s-era city upbringing gave me street smarts. One parent’s addiction taught me to expertly call bullshit from a mile away. The other parent’s mental illness instilled critical thinking and anticipatory planning. Working-class roots gave me a work ethic. An ADHD brain made me creative and dogged. The glorious dysfunction and madness of my surroundings made me a writer with a clear, true voice. These things are no longer weights. They are gifts, and it’s time to use them. It’s time to be happy, and live the life I was given. In the odd and tender clarity of 4 am, it seems as simple as that.

Kathleen McKitty Harris is a fifth-generation New Yorker who has made her home in northern New Jersey for nearly twenty-five years. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Longreads, Creative Nonfiction, McSweeney’s, The Rumpus, and several print anthologies. Kathleen has been featured as a storyteller on The Moth Podcast and has performed at Joe’s Pub at The Public Theater in Manhattan, as well as at story slams throughout the Northeast. She is currently at work on a memoir exploring her Irish American lineage in New York City—and the ways in which her ancestors’ lives, as well as the relentless energy of the city itself, continue to shape her own.