Imagination
When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to be a
politician. How’s that for
imagination? But I had great hopes of
the things I could do in politics. I was
going to go to law school. I was going
to advocate for women and children and other underrepresented minorities. I was going to save the world. And because I was the product of two hippie
parents, I was raised to believe that I could do that. Even as they grew nauseous of my talk of a
life in Washington, they still supported it.
Of course, my parents were both hippies, so they would have also
supported a life of tree pruning or coupon clipping. I guess that’s what gave me the
advantage. My parents never discouraged
my dreams, nor did they stifle my imagination.
As a little girl, my imaginary friends were dead presidents,
dead writers, and dead artists. And
also, to my parents dismay, Barbie.
But they accepted my relationships with dolls and my ponies and books. Wait.
Books? And Barbie? And dead
people? I’m pretty sure that’s therapy-worthy.
My therapist would agree.
Also, she is grateful for the disparity.
Reality
Well, this is the truth.
I wasn’t smart enough to go to college when I got out of high
school. I knew I wasn’t going to
be. Despite my best efforts, school was
not for me. Maybe I was young. Maybe I was immature. Maybe my hippie parents didn’t beat the value
of an education into me. I will always thank
my parents for that, by the way. But I
just wasn’t college material at 18. So I
joined to Coast Guard. Then that
sucked. So I got out. And I decided it was time to go to
college. When I was 23. And that was the perfect time for me to go to
college. I wasn’t any smarter than I was
at 18, but I understood the value of an education by that point. And I believed, again, that I could be all of
those things I thought I could be when I was a little girl. I soaked up education. I remembered what was important. I sat in classrooms and listened to the gospel
of academia. I WAS GOING TO BE A
SCHOLAR.
So, I studied for finals and the GRE, the LSAT and all the
other standardized tests that were going to get me to the place where I could
save the world. Then I ran out of
money. By that time I was 26 and in
desperate need of an income. College
couldn’t pay the bills anymore. So, I got a full time job to supplement my
college education. With a high-end homebuilder
in the DC metropolitan area. I was
rubbing elbow with politicians and dignitaries. That’s when my education went by the wayside.
Even though I do have a college degree,
FROM an accredited institution, work became more important than my dreams. And the things I imagined for myself as a
little girl were lost to the façade of success.
I no longer thought that the impact I would have as an environmental
or social advocate was as important as dinners and drinks and parties after
work. I was going to be a star. But I
was still in college. I forgot about
that. I guess that’s where I lost my perspective. I guess that’s where the line between books
and Barbie became blurred.
Fantasy
In the mid-2000’s, the housing market hit the shitter. I think we all know that, right? Well, that’s when I lost my job. As soon as I entered the industry, within
months, it all went to hell. And we all
attribute our unrealistic expectations of economic success to our fiscal demise. We aren’t stupid. We may have been then, but we have knowledge
and experience now. We know what
happened to the market 8 years ago. And
when I thought, 8 years ago, that I had lost everything, that’s when I began to
dream again.
When I lost the Marquis lifestyle, I realized that there might
be something else out there. Maybe it
was my time. My time to do something
different. So I looked at other opportunities. I looked to re-evaluate my dreams. I looked at where I could find purpose. And I decided that living a life of
simplicity on a south pacific isle was my destiny. Apparently, it was not.
Destiny
I like to talk about destiny. A lot.
I like to say “everything happens for a reason.” It makes me feel better about how I live my life. I tell myself that the reason I don’t live in
a bungalow on a South Pacific island is because the universe has other plans
for me. It’s easy and it helps me drive
west, every morning, instead of to south to the airport. It’s my destiny. I guess.
But it also gives me the freedom to fantasize. It gives me the opportunity to forget about
what is real. When I think about the bungalow
on the North Shore, I don’t have to think about giving up on my ambitions or
getting myself to work on time or brushing my kid’s hair in the morning. I don’t have to think about the emotional price
I have to pay for forfeiting my dreams or the lump in my breast or the $12 l
have in the bank until Monday. I only
think about walking around barefoot in the yard and picking mangos and wading
in the river with a child who deserves to be a child.
But that wasn’t my destiny.
If it was, I would have made it so.
My destiny is uncut grass and late dinners and no health insurance and
old cars. It’s a destiny I chose for
myself. And even though it sounds like I
am complaining, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Because chaos and imperfection, are often,
where I find my inner peas.
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