I wrote a post, and I had a poem I wrote a few years ago that I wanted to include with it, but I have searched the whole house, and it has disappeared. Those of you who have moved recently - how long did it take for you to feel organized again? I'm going to hold off on that other post. While looking, I found something I wrote 15 years ago, when I was 21 years old. Turns out, I'm not SO different at 36 than I was at 21.
When You Grow Up
When you're a little kid, grownups ask you, "So, what are you going to be when you grow up?" The possibilities are endless. You can say anything, because at that moment you can be anything you want - a movie star, a ballerina, a fireman, a baseball player, president. No one holds you to that - to your dream of being whatever you say you'll be when you grow up. But, when you're an innocent, wide-eyed child, full of hope, everyone wants to know what you hope to be.
Suddenly, one day when you're much older, someone asks you, "So, what do you do?" You automatically answer that you're a mailman, or whatever, but it wouldn't be that. You would say "I'm in communications" to build it up because that's what you "are". Suddenly, people aren't asking you what you want to "be" anymore. They want to know what you "are". You've made your choice. Your destiny is chosen.
But, there are so many things to "be", how can you pick just one? Me, I want to "be" kind. I want to "be" loving. I want to "be" a good friend. I want to "be" a good wife. I want to "be" a good mother. I want to "be" successful. I want to "be" deliriously happy and content. I want to "be" an 82 year old grandma who skydives and drives a Harley to visit her grandkids.
I want to see it all. I want to experience it all. I want to "be" it all. I don't want to grow up.