I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t know that I will know any time soon either. There are so many things that I thought I wanted to be when I grew up. A journalist sounded fun but for some reason, I didn’t pursue that one. Even for career day back in fourth grade, I didn’t really know what to dress up as and I kept changing my mind from lawyer to doctor to whatever else popped into my little 9 year old head.
That indecision carried on for quite some time. I went off to college thinking that I would become a world traveler, an international business woman spending half my time between Paris and New York. Then I took microeconomics for the Economics major. Yeah, right.
Then I thought maybe I would get into the hotel world. I did for a while and I liked it. Then life began to happen to me, layoffs, job switches, a child.
I felt like my head had been spun around like a tilt-a-whirl and now it was time for me to get off the ride.
Then Friday happened.
I can’t stop thinking about the dreams of those who are now lost. I can’t stop thinking about what they would have grown to become. I look at my own daughter and find myself just sad.
I know that I want to be a compassionate person. I know that I want to be loved and to give love. I know that I want to know happiness and joy. I know that I want to learn from the sorrow and grief. I know that I want to work toward a better world for the Daughter. I know that when I grow up, I want to show kindness, true kindness, to those I meet. I know that when I grow up, I want to remember Friday and make it the event that keeps me cognoscente of my loved ones and how important it is to tell them I love them.
I guess I do know what I want to be when I grow up, I just didn’t realize I knew. It was never a profession. It was to just grow up to be a good person.