Are you where you thought you’d be? #thechallengecontinues
Nope. Not even close. The place I thought I would be in life nearing the middle of my thirties looks nothing like this. Doesn’t remotely resemble it. It's actually, if you put them side to side, is much less than all my former thoughts. But I suppose that is expected, right? The life we see for ourselves is limited only by what we know at the time. And then you start living, and things change. And you learn to limit your experience by all the things that happen to you. Life changes around you. And you start changing life too.
Sports Medicine: I’m kind of there, I suppose. I let go of that childhood dream of becoming a sports doctor when I realized that I loved sports way more than I loved doctors. I am totally okay with it. I realize now what I wanted, and how I wanted it for the wrong reasons. I’m glad that am where I am professionally. I get to help shape the next generation, which includes many student-athletes. I might inspire greatness. I also have the opportunity to heal other types of wounds and injuries… And though I had no idea that I would be in this place, doing this work, this was exactly what I wanted for my life.
In Love: I'm a mess *queues up Anthony Hamilton* Lawdy, Lawd, Lawd. I mean, it’s a controlled mess, but a mess, nonetheless. I’m working on it though, one blog post at a time. I believed though, that by now, I would have found some piece of someone’s heart to hold on to. But I understand now that having peace of heart is so much more. And I’m okay with not being where I thought I would be - for now. If it weren’t for this path, I may not ever have found that lesson. But, in order to survive the lesson, you’ve got to fill the empty side of your bed with lots and lots of pillows. So I’ve heard. #thisisnotme #ormylife #stoplookingatmewithyourjudgement
PhDeezy: Yea, about that. Two degrees down and one to go. It’s in progress, kinda. I’ve had to defer that dream a spell so I could face reality. When your family needs you, that’s what matters. Though my academic aspirations are everything to me, my family is everything else. They were here for my firsts; I will always be there when they are at their lasts. It’s interesting though, I thought I would have more feelings of regret and sorrow, for temporarily giving up something that means so much to me. But, this showed me that there was something that meant a whole hell of a lot more.
Married With Children: My ring finger is bare and there aren’t any lil’runners scooting about this place. I believed I would have some version of a wedding scrapbook to show you, and I definitely thought that my uterus would have been more useful by this time in my life. You know, those expected things. To have met the man, have the child, and set some roots in some ground somewhere (near an airport). But no. I’ve been living the life of the alchemist in training, the lonely nomad, the isolated wanderer…I could go on. Though, I do not have children of my own, I have godchildren that I own. Five god-girls and a god-son. Nurture is a word that has been used to describe me. I think we all assumed I would nurture something I created #LikeThisHereBlog. But nurturing the creations of others has given my existence meaning I could never have known.
So, I’m clearly not where I thought I would be. Where is this place I currently reside?
Glad you wondered. I’m a runner. If you couldn’t tell by the blog or the #14in2014 challenge, then I’ll show you the receipts. Running shoes are expensive, race registrations are sometimes due in the middle of the month, and you have to fly to some start lines before you run. I never, in all my life (before my life as a runner) believed that I would be a runner. Have a desire to run for fun. Talk other people into running with me. Get jealous when I see other people running when I have something to do. I talk about running like I talk about shoes. And you know how I feel about shoes. Right? Exactly.
Also, as evidenced by the blog, I’m a writer of sorts in the making, kinda. I’ve had a small host of people tell me that this was something I should consider doing, and I never took them seriously. I never saw myself as a writer, or believed that the things I wrote would be of interest to anyone outside of family and professors. I mean, I’m no Toni Morrison…and I never will be. But, I’m someone who has a story, no matter how it compels you. Once I get over that, the compelling piece, I’ll really step into this writing thing. Now that I am seeing myself as something of a writer, I want my words to mean something. What my uterus hasn’t done, my hands have. I plan to nurture that, until something else grows inside of me.
I am vulnerable. In the past ten or so years, I have cried. Cried tears I should have shed ten years prior. I get emotional. Like I buy these things – emotions – in bulk, at Costo, on Saturdays, after all those free samples. And though I have always worn my mood on my face, I was a bit of a brick wall. You might know I’m not pleased, but you never knew to what depths. I had a poker face in that regard. It’s gone now. A series of disappointments in life (love mostly) has broken through the brick will like Berlin circa 1989. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I miss the control, but I love the freedom to feel. And not apologizing for it. No matter the level of rationality. Something about accepting your humanity. And not apologizing for it. Or the tears.
I am patient – with myself. I have always been a patient person. I understand that we all need to figure things out. I don’t jump to conclusions about how people respond to the way life happens, or little kids crying for attention, or folks who take too long to order their food at Chipotle #wellsometimesyouknowwhatimean. I have never been patient with myself. I’m so hard on myself for making a mistake. I can’t understand how I could not have known. I always speed myself through disappointments, heartbreaks, and sadnesses. It happened, that sucks, get over it. And because I did not let the process happen, it just built the wall higher and thicker. These days though, I get sad, and I don’t apologize for it. Sometimes it lasts a day, other times it lasts a week. But now, unlike before, once it’s gone, it’s gone. I didn’t always give my scabs time to heal the emotional bruises underneath. I’m patient enough now to trust the process.
Though I am not where I thought I would be starring scarily at the middle of my thirties, I am okay. I want a family of my own, created with my somebody’s son. I want to keep running. I want to have a terminal degree hanging next to my race medals. I want to experience love in every way, not just these limited, varied, fleeting forms I’ve come to know, and let go of... And even though it frightens me more than that one time this happened, I’m even okay with peeling back more of my layers. Being exposed in ways I never wanted to be. I want to be more confident. Feel beautiful every day, not just on dress up days.
Interesting though, I have felt like I’m “less” not having achieved what I thought I would at this time in my life. I’m thinking now though, that I might be “less” had I realized all those things today.
Amazing how perspective changes the view.
