Skip to main content

What I want to be when I grow up

  I never wanted to be married. I sorta wanted kids. I never truly planned to spend the rest of my life in Oklahoma. I wanted to be the director of the FBI by the time I was 25. I wanted to travel the world and see things people only dreamed about...now here I am.
  A few day ago, I came across an opportunity to travel to Thailand and Cambodia for 2 weeks doing volunteer work with wildlife. Elephants to be exact. I want it. I want it badly. But what does that mean for me now?
  Today, my boss asked me if I was a P1 employee or a P2. Having not understood either he explained. P1: someone who is mobile at anytime to follow an opportunity. P2 being the opposite. Immediately, my heart lurched. Obviously, I always wanted to be a P1. I am now a P2. My family is a P1 family. Although I have been here for a long time now, my nomadic heart still longs for the unknown. My newly embraced engagement has me at a P2.
  So what am I now? A P2? I just went through my 31st birthday. Another day...another moment...and a wrinkle in time. I highly doubt I am old enough to be going through a midlife crisis; however, knowing that the one I have chosen to marry is tied forever to this place and even more specifically, his home has me thinking. What do I want to be when I grow up?
  Do I want to be married? Do I want kids? Do other people want that for me? Do I not know what I want and in the unknown am I completely lost? I believe so. I am pretty sure. Most definitely. A million times yes. So now what?
  These are things I most usually keep to myself. But I have to get them out there. It is eating me up. I talked to J tonight about my thoughts, feelings, and uncertainties and as always he is a constant. Scared this time I might leave but a constant. I asked if we could push off the wedding. I asked if we could postpone. I don't truly think I want either of those things. Because when I think about them my heart starts to race and I feel more uncertain.
  But I am almost to the point where I don't want to deal with all the stress of a wedding. The idea makes me shudder and begin to hate it. And that's sad for it being 300 something days away. Why can't I just get with the program?! I said yes. I meant it. So why is this seeming so difficult? And it hurts him. I hate that it hurts him.
  I am scared and tired. So very tired. I need lots of prayers. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I think I'm ready to be a P2, but I'm still adjusting. Moments like this make me believe in elopement. :)
  All I know is this... it is me and him, and it will always be me and him. And that is probably the only non-stressful part about it. If I can focus on that simple truth all else will be okay.

Getting older's never been on my plans. Guess I have no choice. :-P

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tiger must stay in your backpack...

   I'm not that parent. The one who gloats too much, and shows off all the pictures. The parent who relays every detail of their kid to let others know how incredible I think they are. Perhaps it is a flaw. Who knows. And I also pride myself in not being a helicopter parent. I teach and let go. I discipline and let go.    And I thought I would be ready for this: first day of Pre-K. I have been very positive and uplifting and have wanted my son to be extra ready to go to school. We have talked about it for months! I am ready... Or so I thought.  This morning, as white boy was leaving to take them to daycare, he said to Owen, "You can't take Tiger to school tomorrow or he will have to stay in your backpack, so do you want to take him to daycare today?" I thought little of it, but as Owen threw him down on the ground and turned to head out the door, my throat hitched. "Are you sure you don't want to take him today?" He said no. It was a sense of finality.  ...

A goodbye love letter to you...

  I sat across from my dad at lunch, yesterday, and asked him, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" He said, "Yeah. 1 year." And his eyes grew damp. "I'll never forget walking into that room..." He didn't continue. I didn't ask him to. "I'll never forget the police officer banging on my door at 1130 at night..." I didn't continue. He didn't ask me to.  "This journal was given to me several years ago by my children. I know they wanted me to write down my thoughts to get through the rough times I was going through at the time. I did not start this at that time. Why am I starting it now? Well, I only thought I had been through hell back then, but now I realize I didn't have any idea what heartache was until Aug 15, 2010 -"   This is the beginning of one of my mother's journals. A journal she started a little over a month after Andy died. And she wrote it--to him.  "Dear Mother - Today is the day before Mothe...

Arithmetic of Purpose

   By nature, humans will, at one point in their life, ask the question, "For what purpose? Why am I here? What am I meant to do?" Okay, maybe they will ask themselves more than 1 question...but at least around the same theme. "Who am I, and why am I here?" It is built in our very DNA. Growing up, I didn't ask this often. I had a loving family who went with the current. Who I was and why I was here was bound up in my place in my family of 4. I was comfy. I was loved. I was secure. But alas...the question presented itself.   I first asked myself this question walking down the streets of Rome. I was alone, I was 21, and I was lost. I had just finished AmeriCorps and felt like I wanted something, but wasn't sure what that was. I had found my faith, at last, and realized that perhaps I wanted to be a bigger part of the Church collective. I felt meaning to my nothingness. I went home with direction. I graduated from college, finally, and started grad school to be...