What Will You Be When You Grow Up?

Blogs are about gaining perspective, right? Writing out our stories and trying to make sense of it all. There is a lot that I’m trying to make sense of right now: My work schedule – I’ve been working from 5:30 am to 1:30 pm this week, but that will change next week as it does every week; school – am I going for what I really want?; and if I can be satisfied with good enough versus going for the gold (a bit general and maybe cryptic, but the truth will come out in time).  I have made a decision about work, am still contemplating school, and have barely touched how much effort I think really needs to go into life. For the longest time things – good and bad – have happened without much of my own intervention and I was ok with that.  Now I’m wondering if it’s time to start working at it to really get the outcome I want.  This leads us to my previous question: What do I really want? 

Thirty-two seems a little late to start working at life, but before that I was cultivating myself, who I wanted to be, what characteristics I had and which ones I wanted, and learning to be comfortable with that person. Now I’m turning to how much achievement I feel I need and how impressive my resume needs to be before I’m satisfied. Call it shallow, but I’ll admit it: I like to wow people into thinking I have big brains before telling them that “The Slammin’ Salmon” is a great movie, that I want to grow up to be Natalie Portman, or that Pop Tarts are the perfect food (they are).  I don’t see that needy part of me going away any time soon.

With the professional identity struggles both Z and I have survived, I hope Connor knows right away that he wants to be a doctor, a lawyer, a dad, a salesman at The Sunglass Hut, or a carny. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll have conversations to help steer him in the right direction (sorry Mama and Papa, your “Why don’t you become a doctor?” method probably won’t play a part).  There is so much potential and awe surrounding every child that I can’t help but speculate what ‘Rado will be like in 20 years.  Before then, though, we’ll have the “Stop shoving your hand down the back of your pants” and the “Boobies is an inappropriate word, especially in regards to your Lola” conversations a few hundred more times.  Ah, the simplicity of life only makes itself known when pondering future struggles.  My way to keep it simple today: takeout for dinner, courtesy of Grandpa Sid.


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