Dear Life,
There are lessons that seem prominent at various stages of life. Like when I was young and there was a limitless feeling associated with things I wanted to do in the future, or who I wanted to be as defined through my career or profession. I knew I wanted to help people, I knew I wanted to do things that very few had done, and I knew that I wanted to do something that I loved. When I was young, I set my sights on becoming an anesthesiologist, an astronaut, and a theatrical literature professor. All at the same time. As a doctor, I could alleviate pain. As an astronaut, I could discover and reach deeply into the unknown. As a professor connected to theater and all her power, I would be able to actively maintain my love of the stage. It didn't matter that it would take me 90 years to finish school for all of these things. They all seemed wonderful and exciting and totally worth my passion to pursue.
I admit that I became a little distracted as I got older. Places and things turned my head as an option of pursuit. Then, toward the end of high school, I had no idea what path made sense or what I should do. The buffet of options made me feel like any mixture of all the things would make me sick, or that if I only heaped up on the king crab legs, I would surely miss out on all of the other delights. It was overwhelming. As was the notion of how to finance my beautiful dreams.
I remember working with 5-year-olds at a summer day camp when I was between semesters in college. The pay wasn't awesome, but the kids were. Each day we hold scheduled activities, do crafts, lunch, walk to the bathrooms together in one big group, play with water guns, and do snack. At that time in my life, I took to interviewing random people. It was a thing I did. There was so much life, so many experiences, and capturing a bit of it seemed enlightening, and sacred in a way. Not only was I on the receiving end of parts of their lives, but to capture their voices, too, was special. One day, that curiosity spilled over to my 5-year-olds.
Vincent was a 5-year-old spit-fire who was totally allergic to gluten. He struck me as the kind of kid who generally wouldn't know or care about gluten, but whenever the red vines came out during snack time, he would politely ask for a fruit roll-up instead. "I can't eat wheat," he would say as he shrugged his shoulders and winced his face a little. When he first told me that, I didn't realize there WAS wheat in red vines (weird). "Oh, wow," I told him as I checked the ingredients on the tub cradled in my arm. "Thank you for telling me," I told him. That's a disciplined 5-year-old.
I can say that I had the perfect group of kids for me. They were happy and giggly. They liked colors and they were nice to each other. They were pretty good at sharing and tears usually only happened when someone fell on their face during a joyful sprint. When I brought my handheld voice recorder, it was more for novelty and fun. Interviewing a 5-year-old I knew I needed to keep the questions light, "what's your favorite color?" Things like that. When I asked Vincent what he wanted to be when he grew up, he shouted out, without any holding back or hesitation, "a trashman!!" "Wow," I said, kinda giggling and taken aback. Why not?
When he said it, it was with joy. He was super excited at the thought of riding around on the back of a huge truck all day long, and that is all that matters. I think about how turd-like I would have been had I said "Seriously? Why would you want to do that???" and shriveled my face up all snarky-like thinking about the smell of the truck, or the unmentionable content it carries. I didn't say much of anything, I just let him be him. What I should have said was, 'Thank you." Because trash peeps are insanely vital. And I have met no other in my life who has made a similar declaration.
So, Life, you know you've taken me on a number of Mr. Toad's Wild-Ride-esque journeys. I've decided a few of those crazy paths on my own. They're mine to take, and mine to learn from. Dreams are powerful. Let them be. Let imagination be the motivating factor. I feel like that courage to try is often scrutinized and then lost, which is a shame. I want to have that child-like wonder, Life. I want to be happy, so my choice is to be so, to love what I do, even if it's different than what I had originally thought. To stay true to myself in order to discern what's really right for me, to keep my heart and mind open to lessons through opportunities that come my way.
I hope whatever that 5 year old chose to become in his adulthood that he's killing it. I hope that he's still giggly and happy eating his gluten-free-ness. I'll eat the red vines on his behalf. :)
J.
