When I Grow Up I Want To Be...

I don't remember all of the things that I wanted to be when I was growing up. I am sure that there were the traditional and typical ideas of nurse, airline stewardess, teacher, etc., the things that little girls expected to have available to them while growing up in the 60's. I think in my teens I finally settled on "secretary," much to the disappointment of my Engineer father. I know that he really wanted us - any of us - to go to college, to have the American Dream. Why we took such different paths, I don't know. That's probably the topic of another blog post.

One thing I am realizing is that most of my life I simply and without question accepted where I was, what was expected of me, by society, by my family, by my friends ... and I accepted that my life decisions would be guided by, if not dictated by, others. I like to color, but I color between the lines. I like to be creative, but creative within boundaries.

For some reason, it took me to my 40's, single and deeply scarred, to pick up the pieces and realize that ... I can really do what I want, the unexpected, things that bring me joy, peace and satisfaction. It started with baby steps, and continues that way. How did I figure out that I didn't *have* to live within the confines of a city, surrounded by close neighbors that shared their party noise, arguments, and exhaust fumes, along with recipes and cups of sugar or a borrowed egg? I stumbled upon a dream starter home, and well, the dream just grew from there.

I'm on the verge of something new, and maybe bigger than me or what I can handle, but I feel it in the air. I can reach a quivering hand out to grab it, if I dare. On this vast property with my close-enough but far-enough-away landlady/neighbor, there is room to grow. I thought at first it was room to grow my youngest daughter, goat kids, chickens, and a garden. Maybe, just maybe, it's me, too?