Brent has to go to San Antonio soon and he asked me if I wanted to go with him.
After we were married, Brent and I split for a summer. I lived in San Antonio and he lived in Minneapolis. The idea being that we were prepping for grad school. Internships helped pave the way to great grad school grants. We were both highly recruited by several schools, but not the same schools and if we were both going to go, we needed an impressive resume (or impressive scores, which I later learned we had, but at the time we weren't so sure). Brazilian samba music reminds me of San Antonio. So does simple Mexican music, but my roommate was from Rio and she loved the samba, which she taught to me. Zig Ziglar wrote in a book once, (paraphrase) "I'm back in this grey town with college students rushing back and forth and I miss the smiles and laughter and music I just left behind in San Antonio."
I told Brent that I couldn't go back. San Antonio tastes like the death of a dream.
Yes, I have a flair for the dramatic. I get that.
It may or may not have also been that I didn't want to use up babysitting on a town I've already done and done well. I may or may not also be regretting jumping at the opportunity to get out of this bleak January in any way possible. But still. My initial death of a dream statement was also a true one.
Never mind that I killed that dream for a new one. I wanted to be a mommy. And I didn't see the point in being a hyper-educated mommy. And I also knew that if I got hyper-educated, I'd have a hard time letting it go to be a mommy. I chose one dream over another. Most days I have no regrets. On the days where I suck at my job, and there are a lot of them.....I wonder if maybe doing research on e.coli for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad thing. You can be furious with e.coli and yell at it and ship it off to a incubator to grow and suffer little to no guilt.
A couple days ago I put on Norah Jones which brought out more dreams I've let die. The novel writer dream. The children's book writer dream. The let's have a dozen children dream. The nature photographer dream. The famous blogger dream. *wink* The homeschooling mom dream. The learn Italian dream.
Or today, I put on Los Lonely Boys which reminds me of sailing in the Pacific before Charming was a glimmer in my eye. When I was toying with the idea of Eldest boy, Only daughter, Baby son sounds like the perfect family. I didn't know what kind of dream I would have traded in for that to be the case. What I would have missed out on. Or how many times I'd find myself whispering to Brent, "I'm so glad we have him."
That hummy, dreamy music you hear at the Target music trial kiosks remind me of my yoga dreams. A phase I'd still probably be in if I'd stayed in the city. There was a time I toyed with getting certified as an instructor. To do that now would be kin to throwing my money in the garbage as people here tend to frown on yoga as if it is all channeling spirits. My yoga instructor was a Christian. I assure you I didn't once channel a spirit in her class. I did find my inner rock star. I miss her. The instructor and my inner rock star. My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore. Apparently my inner rock star wasn't doing her crocodile quite right. Not doing it all all makes me weak, but pain free.
Which reminds me of my dream to be a midwife. First I was going to certify as a doula. Eventually going to school for midwifery. And, when I was rock star good, moving to Africa to deliver babies in the bush. The You've Got Mail soundtrack sends me there. I watch it now and it just depresses me, but I do love the music. What I got out of that dream was three successful home births. Two in the water. I. Did. That. It isn't delivering 3000 babies in the backwoods on my own, but it is a dream I can put a check beside.
I thought about going back to school next year and getting my nursing degree and attacking the midwifery thing from another angle. And then it occurred to me that though I didn't mind death and barf and poo and fluids and crises when I was 18-23, I'm not really fond of them now. A crying child shoots adrenaline though me the likes of which I would never have expected.
Dreams come and go. This morning I told Brent about a house I remember that had a whole wall of built in bookshelves where I sat and told myself that, one day, I, too would have a room like that. He might have looked at me a little cross eyed and told me that dream was irrational. Full bookshelves scattered throughout the house is completely adequate. I told him that I have a lot of dreams that I can do nothing about, but a wall of bookshelves is do-able and to start figuring out where we could put them. But not to worry because next week I'd be on to something different and he won't have to follow through. Yet.
Meanwhile, I'm stripping wallpaper. I have a dream.....that one day.....I will no longer have burgundy/mauve/teal/purple roses/pineapples/paisley on my walls. And when I have killed them once and for all, I will tackle the seven colors of carpet that coordinate with them.
And, because all of this is so Dorothy-esque, or maybe because I have also dreamed about moving to the north shore of Kauai, I give you my theme song of the week.
After we were married, Brent and I split for a summer. I lived in San Antonio and he lived in Minneapolis. The idea being that we were prepping for grad school. Internships helped pave the way to great grad school grants. We were both highly recruited by several schools, but not the same schools and if we were both going to go, we needed an impressive resume (or impressive scores, which I later learned we had, but at the time we weren't so sure). Brazilian samba music reminds me of San Antonio. So does simple Mexican music, but my roommate was from Rio and she loved the samba, which she taught to me. Zig Ziglar wrote in a book once, (paraphrase) "I'm back in this grey town with college students rushing back and forth and I miss the smiles and laughter and music I just left behind in San Antonio."
I told Brent that I couldn't go back. San Antonio tastes like the death of a dream.
Yes, I have a flair for the dramatic. I get that.
It may or may not have also been that I didn't want to use up babysitting on a town I've already done and done well. I may or may not also be regretting jumping at the opportunity to get out of this bleak January in any way possible. But still. My initial death of a dream statement was also a true one.
Never mind that I killed that dream for a new one. I wanted to be a mommy. And I didn't see the point in being a hyper-educated mommy. And I also knew that if I got hyper-educated, I'd have a hard time letting it go to be a mommy. I chose one dream over another. Most days I have no regrets. On the days where I suck at my job, and there are a lot of them.....I wonder if maybe doing research on e.coli for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad thing. You can be furious with e.coli and yell at it and ship it off to a incubator to grow and suffer little to no guilt.
A couple days ago I put on Norah Jones which brought out more dreams I've let die. The novel writer dream. The children's book writer dream. The let's have a dozen children dream. The nature photographer dream. The famous blogger dream. *wink* The homeschooling mom dream. The learn Italian dream.
Or today, I put on Los Lonely Boys which reminds me of sailing in the Pacific before Charming was a glimmer in my eye. When I was toying with the idea of Eldest boy, Only daughter, Baby son sounds like the perfect family. I didn't know what kind of dream I would have traded in for that to be the case. What I would have missed out on. Or how many times I'd find myself whispering to Brent, "I'm so glad we have him."
That hummy, dreamy music you hear at the Target music trial kiosks remind me of my yoga dreams. A phase I'd still probably be in if I'd stayed in the city. There was a time I toyed with getting certified as an instructor. To do that now would be kin to throwing my money in the garbage as people here tend to frown on yoga as if it is all channeling spirits. My yoga instructor was a Christian. I assure you I didn't once channel a spirit in her class. I did find my inner rock star. I miss her. The instructor and my inner rock star. My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore. Apparently my inner rock star wasn't doing her crocodile quite right. Not doing it all all makes me weak, but pain free.
Which reminds me of my dream to be a midwife. First I was going to certify as a doula. Eventually going to school for midwifery. And, when I was rock star good, moving to Africa to deliver babies in the bush. The You've Got Mail soundtrack sends me there. I watch it now and it just depresses me, but I do love the music. What I got out of that dream was three successful home births. Two in the water. I. Did. That. It isn't delivering 3000 babies in the backwoods on my own, but it is a dream I can put a check beside.
I thought about going back to school next year and getting my nursing degree and attacking the midwifery thing from another angle. And then it occurred to me that though I didn't mind death and barf and poo and fluids and crises when I was 18-23, I'm not really fond of them now. A crying child shoots adrenaline though me the likes of which I would never have expected.
Dreams come and go. This morning I told Brent about a house I remember that had a whole wall of built in bookshelves where I sat and told myself that, one day, I, too would have a room like that. He might have looked at me a little cross eyed and told me that dream was irrational. Full bookshelves scattered throughout the house is completely adequate. I told him that I have a lot of dreams that I can do nothing about, but a wall of bookshelves is do-able and to start figuring out where we could put them. But not to worry because next week I'd be on to something different and he won't have to follow through. Yet.
Meanwhile, I'm stripping wallpaper. I have a dream.....that one day.....I will no longer have burgundy/mauve/teal/purple roses/pineapples/paisley on my walls. And when I have killed them once and for all, I will tackle the seven colors of carpet that coordinate with them.
And, because all of this is so Dorothy-esque, or maybe because I have also dreamed about moving to the north shore of Kauai, I give you my theme song of the week.
1 comment:
Never quit dreaming. Let's trade bucket lists & try to help each other check a couple things off. Maybe even together.
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