Dream

Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? As a young child I mean. Not the realistic "dream" you figured out when you were a "kid" in college, but the wildly, daring, unlimited, unimaginable dream you had for yourself when you were small enough to believe anything was possible. I wanted to be a marine biologist from the time I was eight. I had it all figured out and I pursued that clear up through my bachelors degree. It started out innocent, but it was my reality "dream" job that actually came true until I realized one day I had changed my mind. Parallel to that, through all of those years, I also wanted to be a writer. My teachers were supportive, providing ample opportunities for story writing. It's embarrassing now to look back over the ones my mom saved for me. Funny how most of my main characters ended up as dolphins and whales and sea anemones and sharks. Children see no limits. I wanted two things and I found a way to make them both happen. Of course my parents were supportive too. Besides saving my work, they enrolled me in a creative writing class, they bought me journal after journal and limitless supplies of paper and pencils and markers and what not. They fed my ego through school and they kept me going throughout the summer months. Somewhere along the way I lost sight of that. Somewhere along the way life happened and, as we all know the inevitable, I grew up.

Would you say it's intuitive that we all strive for success? Is it ingrained in all of us or is it a character trait of some of us? Do we all want to be the best we can be; willing to work hard to get there? I don't know, but I know it's true for me. I miss the college realm; of being surrounded every day by academics. I miss the belief that anything is possible and the feeling of no fear in the face of a mountain. I miss my college friends who maintained those same beliefs right beside me, who celebrated my victories and shared theirs with me- leaping at opportunities and calculating the jump from midair. I miss that perfect world where society's expectations couldn't touch us, couldn't box us in and force us to move in the same direction as everyone else.

I should be happy that things are taking flight and that the goals I had for myself are happening faster than I had anticipated. Why then is my excitement replaced by anxiety? Why am I not ecstatic that new doors are opening right in front of me? Why don't I feel as confident on the inside as what I apparently portray on the outside?

I've been thinking a lot about all of this and I've decided it comes down to Change. People have told me before that I don't do well with Change. I always disagreed. I have myself convinced that I love Change and that I seek it out to keep life interesting. Now I know that both are true. I do enjoy it- when I seek it out. I do love it- when I'm in control of when and how it works. My life is perfectly calculated and when I anticipate those Changes- their costs their benefits their steps- I welcome them with open arms. It's in the times when Change smacks me in the face that I tend to fall apart. Don't we all? It's that feeling of wanting to duck, but acting too late. You end up with a fat lip or a bloody nose and that's all you have to show for it until you heal. It's not until after you've picked yourself up and moved on that you can show off the scar as something to be proud of; something you've overcome. Ask me, I have one or two.

And so I'm walking into Change yet again; ready to do battle, ready to take on new scars for the blows it throws me that I can't yet see coming. I'm walking in so that it hits me in the face rather than the back. I want to see the scars.

The ocean is a world I can understand. In that realm, the animals with the biggest scars are the ones who have the most experience. They've been around a while, they've gone places that others haven't, they've done things that others won't. That's what I want. If scars represent overcoming fear of the unknown and stretching oneself to the limit, if they mean breaking free of the boundaries set upon us by society's expectations, then that's what I want. I'm tired but I'm ready for the fight. Who decided that as adults, we have to stop dreaming?