Childhood Dreams: When You Don’t Have Any
I wish I were one of those who had a childhood dream.
Maybe I was too dull. Or maybe just pragmatic.
After all, I could draw, but I was no Renoir. I could sing, but I was no Shirley Temple. I could write, but not poetry.
I had (have) zero athletic ability. I was the last in a race and forget about climbing the rope!
I didn’t particularly like people, so that cut out doctor, lawyer, nurse, or teacher.
This is why while I did quite well in high school, I had no plan for the rest of my life. By the time I decided to go to college (two years and a failed marriage later), I bounced from three majors in 18 months. (And didn’t finish. I had to eat.)
Instead, I focused on getting through the next day. And the next. And the next.
I’m pushing 60 and I’m still doing the same thing. (I wish I could be planning my retirement, but *snicker* like that’s going to happen.)
I tell my 20-something kids the same thing. Don’t look for pie in the sky. Look around you instead. Concentrate on the small, and if something big happens, you’ll be ecstatic.
And if it doesn’t, well, there’s always tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.