Your dream, my dream! We all scream if it’s… not.

Posted on December 17, 2008

10


I’m really tired of living everyone else’s dreams.

I’m tired of walking into the office on Monday morning and having to check to make sure my mascara looks good and I’m wearing the right shoes. I’m tired of making sure everyone is hearing what they want to hear out of the conversation. I don’t want to attend to anyone’s social needs anymore.

Because up until this point everyone has been just fine except me.

I like where I am in life right now. I have my heart in everything I touch.

But, at the same time, I’m also at the point where my child shadow and my dreams separate. I’m starting to turn the car to a slight left in the fork in the road and everyone is losing their minds over it.

I’m tired of feeling like my life is only worth how many checkmarks can be checked off other people’s lists for me.

Do you have a diploma? Do you have the right job? Are you dating the right guy? Are you off at the right college? Do you like the right music? Do you go to the right church? Do you really think you should be going to church at all? Do you have the right ambitions? Have you done the right things before you get married? Do you live in the right state? Are you spending enough time with me? Have you called everyone you should this week? Have you kept up with all your emails, voicemails, tweets, text messages, phone calls, and meetings? Why don’t you like your coffee black? Do you really like computer coding? Why did you dye your hair purple? You should date him again–he’s changed. Why aren’t you an astronaut? Why would you ever consider living in a rainy city like Seattle? Why would you ever like the color grey? Don’t ever bring home a boy with that type of hair. All our professors just love you, why don’t you do my test for me? Why don’t you play volleyball for your school? You should be a model.

Stop!

I can’t hear myself think! You are staunching the light inside of me that is dying to come out. I have to deal with my own voice in my own head–I don’t need anyone else’s.

I can assimilate to everything that everyone has ever wanted. I can go to off to some Big 10 party college and get a trophy diploma, marry the boy with a pedigree that could beat out Peter Keating, have pretty babies that win beauty contests at three months, get a minivan, be a soccer mom, get on Prozac, survive by my teeth until retirement where I’d move to Florida and take up golf while my husband talks with his old work buddies.

But is that what I want? Do you think it’s what I want? Have you bothered to ask if it’s what I want or if it’s who I want to be?

Thankfully there are days where my eyelids swell and burn from an allergy to the mascara and I have to look you in the eye anyways. There are days where I have to call you and tell you I can’t meet you for lunch, not now, not ever. There are moments like that chilly October night when I was headed inside with the rest of the group and you stopped me and said our conversation wasn’t over. The moments when I sit across from you at a restaurant and can no longer hide the lump in my throat. Moments like the evening in Amsterdam when I was sitting next to a complete stranger with golden eyes and a Heineken in his hand and I asked everything and anything as we floated on the boat down the Kaisergracht because I knew we would never meet ever again.

Those are the moments when it breaks out of that nice little shell that everyone likes to keep me in. I have to tell you exactly what I’m thinking, exactly what neither of us want to hear, exactly why I can’t see you, exactly why I’m overseas, exactly why I have no makeup on.

I crave a life that is rich in love and not money, a life that is quiet, full of art, poetry and beauty. I want Blizzards from Dairy Queen for dinner on occasion. I want to spend a silent afternoon inside with my head rest in your lap while we’re both reading and it’s snowing. I want to go to poetry slams. Pour hours into a manuscript on my computer hoping that maybe it might see the light of day. I want to keep having those conversations that go deep into a person’s very soul and wrestle out loud. I want to listen to you. I want to skip meals because I am pouring myself into something I’m painting. I want to learn and I want to be where I feel like I belong. I want to listen to swing music and do the dishes and put up a Christmas tree all while cooking a vegetarian entree. I want to be able to explore my own world with my own creativity and with my own words.

I cannot live my life like it is a checklist. I don’t want to live my life asking if I did enough for someone. I know what I like, where I thrive, the people that I am challenged the most by.

That’s all I want.

I want to live. I want to love. I want to be loved. I want to create and to be creative.

And I am content with that.

I want to be me.

Not you.

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Posted in: the point