By the time I was 15 years old, my mom, sister, and I had moved homes at least 25 times. My father was an alcoholic. I was getting government-paid school lunches and had a weekend job at a local bakery. I was not surrounded by much ambition or inspiration. But I knew the life I was given was special. I yearned to do something important with it, but I couldn’t find the words to explain this to anyone (and even if I could, I doubted I could find anyone who would entertain my “very optimistic” ideas).