Today, my boyfriend and I got to talking about what we wanted to do when we were little. He has this terrible and sweet need to take care of everyone (that drives me crazy!). And as it turns out, this has been the case since Day 1. And then he asked me what I wanted to do when I was little. My story isn't exactly exciting. Truth be told, I wanted to do exactly what I am doing now, exactly what I still want to do "when I grow up." And it all goes back to one day in the first grade. But let me start here.
When I was in kindergarten, I couldn't read. I was that 5-year-old who still hadn't gotten it and it drove me crazy, because books were my favorite thing. I tried to pretend I could, and even had my teachers fooled (which I now know, speaks loads about them). Because I figured out the scissor picture meant cut, the pencil meant write, etc. And yet, when I was 5 years old, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, and it had everything to do with the things I couldn't yet do. So I wanted to learn.
The next year, I did all those things. I learned to read and write fluently, and I took on the reading world by storm. First grade. The year I learned to read, the year my reading went from nonreader to 6th-grade fluency (according to silly San Diego Quick, I must admit). And then it was settled what I would be when I grew up, now that I knew how to do it. I wanted to be a teacher, and of course, a writer.
That year, we had one small assignment one day. It wasn't a big project, it wasn't something we spent more than one "I didn't plan a lesson" class period on from my teacher, but it stuck with me. She asked us to write a "letter" to ourselves on one of those very wide sheets of newsprint in which the top half in blank for drawing and the bottom half is about 5 manuscript lines. On this paper we were to write a letter to 25-year-old selves. So, in about 20 years, where did we want to be and what did we want to be doing?
To this day, when I judge myself on a "5-, 10-, 20-year plan ... I think about that day sitting in my seat at my desk pondering what I would be when I "grew up" and was 20 years old. I wanted to make sure that it was something good and that I never forgot what I wanted when I began. It's funny, what sticks. The little things.
And what did I say? I don't have the paper, but I remember exactly the things I said I'd be doing: I'd be married and a mother to 2 kids, a boy and a girl. I would be an elementary school teacher. We would have a pet dog. I would live in North Carolina. I would also be a writer so I could tell good stories. We would be happy, just like my family.
Well, I'm getting a little closer to 25 than I'd like, but I've always kind of kept those standards for myself. I knew what I was talking about! Now, I don't think I'll have two kids and a picket fence in 3 years, but I like that I remembered my childhood dreams. And I think it's important, sometimes, that we look back on those dreams that are unadulterated by the realities we've confronted along the way. Before money, and skepticism, and schooling, and peer pressure, and other pressures came into play ... when you were at your most genuine, bright-eyed and optimistic, what did you want to do? Who did you want to be?
So thanks to my boyfriend and my letter from the past popping up in my memories, I had a small little moment of victory today in knowing that I became, in part (or am becoming) what I always wanted to be. I was a writer (and I still hope to be) and I am a teacher. I am trying to reach my dreams.
And now that I'm getting there, I'm ready to be that bright-eyed girl again now and write a letter to my 30-year-old self. I hope she
When I was in kindergarten, I couldn't read. I was that 5-year-old who still hadn't gotten it and it drove me crazy, because books were my favorite thing. I tried to pretend I could, and even had my teachers fooled (which I now know, speaks loads about them). Because I figured out the scissor picture meant cut, the pencil meant write, etc. And yet, when I was 5 years old, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, and it had everything to do with the things I couldn't yet do. So I wanted to learn.
The next year, I did all those things. I learned to read and write fluently, and I took on the reading world by storm. First grade. The year I learned to read, the year my reading went from nonreader to 6th-grade fluency (according to silly San Diego Quick, I must admit). And then it was settled what I would be when I grew up, now that I knew how to do it. I wanted to be a teacher, and of course, a writer.
That year, we had one small assignment one day. It wasn't a big project, it wasn't something we spent more than one "I didn't plan a lesson" class period on from my teacher, but it stuck with me. She asked us to write a "letter" to ourselves on one of those very wide sheets of newsprint in which the top half in blank for drawing and the bottom half is about 5 manuscript lines. On this paper we were to write a letter to 25-year-old selves. So, in about 20 years, where did we want to be and what did we want to be doing?
To this day, when I judge myself on a "5-, 10-, 20-year plan ... I think about that day sitting in my seat at my desk pondering what I would be when I "grew up" and was 20 years old. I wanted to make sure that it was something good and that I never forgot what I wanted when I began. It's funny, what sticks. The little things.
And what did I say? I don't have the paper, but I remember exactly the things I said I'd be doing: I'd be married and a mother to 2 kids, a boy and a girl. I would be an elementary school teacher. We would have a pet dog. I would live in North Carolina. I would also be a writer so I could tell good stories. We would be happy, just like my family.
Well, I'm getting a little closer to 25 than I'd like, but I've always kind of kept those standards for myself. I knew what I was talking about! Now, I don't think I'll have two kids and a picket fence in 3 years, but I like that I remembered my childhood dreams. And I think it's important, sometimes, that we look back on those dreams that are unadulterated by the realities we've confronted along the way. Before money, and skepticism, and schooling, and peer pressure, and other pressures came into play ... when you were at your most genuine, bright-eyed and optimistic, what did you want to do? Who did you want to be?
So thanks to my boyfriend and my letter from the past popping up in my memories, I had a small little moment of victory today in knowing that I became, in part (or am becoming) what I always wanted to be. I was a writer (and I still hope to be) and I am a teacher. I am trying to reach my dreams.
And now that I'm getting there, I'm ready to be that bright-eyed girl again now and write a letter to my 30-year-old self. I hope she
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