What makes us what we are?

What makes us what we are? Is it our circumstances? How we were raised? Or is it just our nature? I have to admit that I've been wondering this very thing lately. I'm trying to follow a dream that I've had since I was 13 or 14. I'm trying to write a book. And in the process of trying to figure out who my characters are or who they become I've found myself reviewing my own life and who I am. Who am I really? Why am I here? And am I doing the things that need to be done or will I leave this earth with unfinished business?

As some of you may have noticed I changed my blog title. I changed it to reflect my life. I feel that every time I get something down and am beginning to understand how my life works, something happens to confuse me all over again.
Being a mom is a scary yet rewarding experience. Zoe is the light of my life. But looking at her I realize that some day she'll grow up and leave... just like I did, just like my parents did and their parents etc. etc. At times the thought of letting her go to such a cruel world hurts me so much that I find myself crying as I play with her, or when she flashes that toothless drooly grin, or when she trys to talk to my while she's nursing. It hurts my heart to think that she'll have to learn how harsh and scary the world truly is. But I too had to learn it and honestly am still learning it.
I'm so sorry now that I thought my mom was holding on too tight. I think that I already understand how hard it is for her. She lost my younger sister and I within six months of each other and my brother just moved about 100 miles away from her at the age of 19. My mom is only 42 and can't believe that all of her kids are grown and gone already. I had Zoe, my first, at the same age that my mom had my brother, her youngest. Will I get past this?