Though I heard this a lot throughout my school years, it had a new music-to-my-ears quality that brought a slight grin to my face as I laid out all of my papers in front of the passport agent at a post office in San Francisco’s industrial-clad Bayview neighborhood.

After a week of scrambling to gather needed documents, trying to find my expired passport two moves later and taking my mugshot of a photo, I finally succumbed to the harsh realization that my secret hiding spot was too secret for even me to find my beloved souvenir of 20 countries. So down to Bayview it was with my Paris-themed folder filled with sacred documents held close and coffee held out far.

But it was’t all bad. We, all of us in the lobby, were in it together. I made small talk with a man also waiting, got googly-eyed over a baby that couldn’t have been more than 4 weeks old (though this is 1 month in my book, parents seem to get the utmost satisfaction by counting in weeks for as long as possible until it gets weird) then decided why not kill two birds with one stone (I just realized how awful this saying is) and get stamps while I’m here. The attendant holds the binder of stamp options at arm’s length for me to squint at insisting that I not touch the pages. I return to my seat and it dawns on me that this morning has actually been quite pleasant despite its official nature.

I also realize that this morning has been equal parts adventure and productive. Just as I realized that I am equal parts my parents. I’m heading to Germany to visit family I have never met – the spontaneity and craving for adventure that I inherited honestly from my dad who’s living there temporarily. Matched with my mom’s supreme sense of organization and preparedness, I show up ready to handle that post office humbly. It’s fun to see the duality of my parents at play in the smallest things. From my coffee preference to my folder within a folder presentation, I can feel my mom and my dad wherever I go and in that lies the greatest security of all. Security that not even Bayview’s barbed wire fences and vandalized bus lines can take away from me.