"you want the moon?"
Last night as I ran around my house putting on the different articles of clothing that constitute my school "uniform", I found myself a little more fatigued than usual. A little more sleepy, a little more breathless, a little more empty-headed and ditzy. I HATE being ditzy. There is nothing more frustrating to me than forgetting what I'm doing as I'm doing it, or forgetting what I was doing in that room, or going upstairs for something and going back downstairs without it. Biggest waste of time, and it makes me feel brainless.
That was the mood I was enjoying as I hopped in the car of a friend to get to school (carpooling is a huge blessing, by the way). The 17-minute drive there was uneventful, which might seem ordinary, but we've been pulled over twice in her car on the way to and from school, and we really didn't have a minute to spare before we were late.
We got to school, and I grabbed my bag, right as I remembered that I didn't have the right books with me. They were in the trunk of the car. The car that my husband drove to work. Great. Ditz. (This is actually somewhat of a common occurrence, because we have at least fifteen different books, and usually a different class every night.) My friend told me she'd share, and we made it to our seats before attendance was taken.
I need to let the entire world know that I love school. I. Love. School. ILOVESCHOOL! It's not only fun and engaging, but it actually feels like I'm doing what I was meant to do forever. BUT(!) I have a HUGE issue with two things: lectures that don't have anything to do with the class, and students that don't pay attention. Last night before our real class started, someone in admin had to come in and give us this whole lesson on using career services. Great. Good. Whatever. It lasted 40 minutes, and I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out because she kept saying the same things over and over again. And the powerpoint presentation she had was just words. Ugh. But the worst part was when she finished and there were ten thousand questions from students who just weren't paying attention. I'm so glad I'm never going to be a teacher. I hate it when teachers have to repeat themselves, and I can't imagine doing it myself. I would just fly off the handle and scream at them, "WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO WHAT I JUST SAID?!? WE ARE NOT IN HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE. ACT LIKE IT." Yeah. Tell schools everywhere not to hire me.
I took so much time in this post on setting the mood so that you could understand a little bit about where my emotions were as I sat through the lecture. The class is called Professional Development. Our teacher, Weston, is super awesome. I like him a lot, and I know he's an amazing massage therapist. Anyway, about halfway through the class, we began to talk about our vision, and how important it was to have a dream about where we want to end up after we graduate.
He talked about all the different modalities in which we could specialize, about all the different amazing places in which to work, about the research we could join in on, how to build up clientele, how to spread the word, etc. It was all very informative, and I took copious notes. But I walked out of that class feeling more confused and ultimately, concerned than I'm sure he had planned.
Because I don't want the world.
We learned about all these different opportunities that are available to us, literally right at our fingertips, and about how we could change the world, and how the future was ours. "Reach for the stars," he says. "The sky is the limit!" But I don't want the sky. And it left me feeling guilty.
You see, I just want a family. When we're both done with school, I want nothing more to have babies. Like two or three. I want to work from my home, and I want the world for my kids. But I don't want to change the world. I don't want the sky. I don't need the stars. I want to be able to help a few people at a time, while being the best mom in the world. So I felt confused. What if I don't want enough? What if I really should be setting out to be this world-renowned therapist, discovering new techniques, and traveling the world to become the best there ever was? Am I at fault for a lack of ambition?
I went home and poured my heart out to my love, and he smiled. And loved me. And told me that my ambitions are exactly the right ambitions for me. Not everyone can be the next surgeon to discover a life-saving method to heart surgery. Not everyone can be the next rocket scientist to start life on the moon. Not everyone can be the singer/songwriter capable of bringing tears to the eyes of the world. And that's okay.
So I'm probably not going to change the world. I probably won't travel to the ends of the earth, looking for the next best modality. But I'm going to be the world. To my kids and my husband. And I'm going to hold my world when I'm holding them. I don't need the world. Maybe I could just have the moon. And I don't feel confused or concerned about that at all. Just wonderfully grateful.
I'll take it.
That was the mood I was enjoying as I hopped in the car of a friend to get to school (carpooling is a huge blessing, by the way). The 17-minute drive there was uneventful, which might seem ordinary, but we've been pulled over twice in her car on the way to and from school, and we really didn't have a minute to spare before we were late.
We got to school, and I grabbed my bag, right as I remembered that I didn't have the right books with me. They were in the trunk of the car. The car that my husband drove to work. Great. Ditz. (This is actually somewhat of a common occurrence, because we have at least fifteen different books, and usually a different class every night.) My friend told me she'd share, and we made it to our seats before attendance was taken.
I need to let the entire world know that I love school. I. Love. School. ILOVESCHOOL! It's not only fun and engaging, but it actually feels like I'm doing what I was meant to do forever. BUT(!) I have a HUGE issue with two things: lectures that don't have anything to do with the class, and students that don't pay attention. Last night before our real class started, someone in admin had to come in and give us this whole lesson on using career services. Great. Good. Whatever. It lasted 40 minutes, and I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out because she kept saying the same things over and over again. And the powerpoint presentation she had was just words. Ugh. But the worst part was when she finished and there were ten thousand questions from students who just weren't paying attention. I'm so glad I'm never going to be a teacher. I hate it when teachers have to repeat themselves, and I can't imagine doing it myself. I would just fly off the handle and scream at them, "WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO WHAT I JUST SAID?!? WE ARE NOT IN HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE. ACT LIKE IT." Yeah. Tell schools everywhere not to hire me.
I took so much time in this post on setting the mood so that you could understand a little bit about where my emotions were as I sat through the lecture. The class is called Professional Development. Our teacher, Weston, is super awesome. I like him a lot, and I know he's an amazing massage therapist. Anyway, about halfway through the class, we began to talk about our vision, and how important it was to have a dream about where we want to end up after we graduate.
He talked about all the different modalities in which we could specialize, about all the different amazing places in which to work, about the research we could join in on, how to build up clientele, how to spread the word, etc. It was all very informative, and I took copious notes. But I walked out of that class feeling more confused and ultimately, concerned than I'm sure he had planned.
Because I don't want the world.
We learned about all these different opportunities that are available to us, literally right at our fingertips, and about how we could change the world, and how the future was ours. "Reach for the stars," he says. "The sky is the limit!" But I don't want the sky. And it left me feeling guilty.
You see, I just want a family. When we're both done with school, I want nothing more to have babies. Like two or three. I want to work from my home, and I want the world for my kids. But I don't want to change the world. I don't want the sky. I don't need the stars. I want to be able to help a few people at a time, while being the best mom in the world. So I felt confused. What if I don't want enough? What if I really should be setting out to be this world-renowned therapist, discovering new techniques, and traveling the world to become the best there ever was? Am I at fault for a lack of ambition?
I went home and poured my heart out to my love, and he smiled. And loved me. And told me that my ambitions are exactly the right ambitions for me. Not everyone can be the next surgeon to discover a life-saving method to heart surgery. Not everyone can be the next rocket scientist to start life on the moon. Not everyone can be the singer/songwriter capable of bringing tears to the eyes of the world. And that's okay.
So I'm probably not going to change the world. I probably won't travel to the ends of the earth, looking for the next best modality. But I'm going to be the world. To my kids and my husband. And I'm going to hold my world when I'm holding them. I don't need the world. Maybe I could just have the moon. And I don't feel confused or concerned about that at all. Just wonderfully grateful.
George Bailey: What
is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the
word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a
pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.
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