There is a photograph of me, taken when I was three. I am wearing a bright blue cable-knit zip-up sweater, jeans, a pair of clamp on metal roller skates, and round dark glasses. My hair is profusely curly, my skin translucently pale. And my left hand is at my cheek and my mouth agape, because I am on wheels on a slight downward incline. I look completely terrified.
Not much has changed, except that I've learned not to appear scared.