When I was six, I was going to be an Artist. I remember this because I picked out an Artist-themed Nutcracker ornament from Hallmark that year.
Then. For about 10 years, I wanted to be a pediatrician. Like I went to a “doctor” camp one summer and got to wear a fake cast for a week. And I asked for a full-out Dr. kit one year for Christmas — which oddly came with real iodine.
I realized when I was 15 that math was not my forte. I nearly died a death by Trigonometry and determined that if I was going to go to a four year college, I had better find something that required very little math. And the dream of being a doctor went to the wayside because I didn’t believe in myself. I talked myself out of it because of my own insecurities.
So, what should one who fancies themselves a social butterfly direct their life to do… Advertising.
This was, of course, pre-Facebook. Tweeting. Snapping. Vine. YouTube. Basically, if you figure that Al Gore didn’t invent the internet until what, 1999, and I was just a high school junior not-partying like it was 1999, you’ll know that the Advertising I was setting my sights on was more aimed toward print or TV.
And I found my love of writing. I mean. Not really just like that. It’s a longer story as to how I my love affair with writing ended up becoming full of so much passion. But for today, we’ll say, I became an Ad major. I took creative writing courses. I took Women’s Studies classes. And boom. I wanted to write. With an edge. With a heart. With my own words.
I did other jobs. Ones that I loved. Felt fullness with, in fact. But writing… it has always felt like this thing I needed to do.
So when I began blogging and babyonthebrehm became this safe place for me as I entered motherhood… as I wrote more and found my own voice… as I started having people tell me they liked to read what I wrote if, for no other reason than, it was real {“Yes. I am most definitely real,” I would retort.} I wanted to find a way to make it my whatiwannabewhenigrowup. Writing. That’s what I wanted someone to pay me to do. Without actually having to figure out who, what, when, or where.
I was scared though. In some ways. Of going for the gusto. Though I started the blog 8 years ago in September, I never put much stock in the blog. I didn’t call myself a blogger for a looooooong time. And when I finally made a Facebook page, I had to choose a title — Blogger. Not writer. I wouldn’t call myself a writer. I hadn’t gone to school for writing. I wasn’t published.
And then I got published. And, now, I even get paid per article. But still. I won’t call myself a writer. Writers are famous. Writers are renowned. Writers say words that move you from the pit of your stomach to the brain in your head. They make you feel.
But the tides are changing a bit. I am writing something else. I am working on “my book.” I know what you’re thinking, “suuuuuuure! We’ve been hearing that for years!” But I have a CHAPTER. One. But it’s mighty. Because it means I decided to do the most important thing. START. And I’ve even shown it to other people, for criticism and feedback and edits. I am in it.
I’ve been talking with friends lately. About what I want to be when I grow up. And here’s my truth:
I want to be a blogger. A writer. A speaker. An advertiser of goodness. A collaborator. An influencer {thanks, Judy}. One who is real. And messy. And flawed. And because I had cancer, I’m not as afraid to say that anymore. I’m not as afraid to be labeled a fool or a whackjob. I’m not as scared to invest a little blood, sweat, and tears, in trying to make an income off of my dream while getting to be a mom and wife and survivor. I want to scatter my words all over this world so they can be felt. I want to become what I want to be when I grow up.
Too often, we watch our dream whizz around in our minds like butterflies in the bushes, don’t we? Contained and content. We keep them there because it’s safe. It’s comfortable. It isn’t real. It’s only just a dream.
And we know that as long as we don’t take action toward it, we will always be able to keep it there, as our dream. It will never be dashed. It will never get rejected. It will never have to go through the discomfort of growing wings.
So we talk somedays and whens. We keep our dreams, buzzing around inside us, filling us with a flurry of emotions. We can feel excitement about possibilities of a dream. We can feel anguish over never going for it. We feel scared because we are too content where we are to change our direction. We can feel sad because we are doing something else we don’t wish to spend our lives doing but it pays the bills and the bills are priority one. Especially as parents, we put everything we think our children could possibly need and want ahead of what we are holding inside of ourselves. And we even use them as an excuse when necessary.
But what is really keeping us from letting go of what we are and becoming who we’re meant to be?
We tell ourselves that the unknown is scary. And it is. But what if the unknown is also the very best part of us that we don’t even know yet? What if the leap is the scariest part and after that, the free falling is the most exhilarating thing we’ve ever done? What if you don’t fall but instead, flourish and your dream becomes a reality?
Or what if you do fall? Flat on your face? Well, as my Uncle Hank’s mom Sally says, “You pull yourself up by your socks” and you get back to it. Life is not defined by our failures but by the way we become from them. In them. Because of them.
What if you do… leap. Jump. Call yourself that thing or that someone. Define yourself as your dream. What if you do? You might just become what you want to be when you grow up. And you might be so thankful you did.
I shared my truth… what is inside my heart. My butterflies whizzing about. And so I ask you… what is yours? What is your truth? What is your whatyouwannabewhenyougrowup? Are you living it? Maybe you want nothing more than to keep doing your current gig until you retire so you put up with whatever the job may be. Maybe you love being a mom and staying home. Maybe you are in school on your path to your plan. Maybe you love exactly what you are doing. If you are, did you know when you started it was your meant-to-be-ness?
But maybe… just maybe you’re a little like me… maybe there is something else inside you that you just haven’t been driven enough, pushed enough, or awakened enough to make it happen. Maybe it is because of something entirely different — money, time, resources — that you haven’t taken the leap.
But it’s worth asking yourself at least once…
what if you did and it became a dream fulfilled. A life of intention. Wings, fully-grown, to fly.
