"...the real question is, 'what do you want to be when you grow up'?"I sat there - the woman who always has something to say, always has an answer - completely dumbfounded, speechless for perhaps the first time in my life. When I didn't immediately offer a response, he rephrased, "I mean, in 10 years, what do you see yourself doing?" Still, no answer came.
These are the kinds of questions for which I've always had the answer. I'm "Type A", a good student, a hard worker, the recipient of an Ivy League degree, and a woman with an unrelenting competitiveness that permeates everything I do. I'm also a planner, committed to being 5 steps ahead at all times. Like I said, these are the kinds of questions for which I always have an answer.
As I sat, a deer in the headlights, across from a man for whom I have great personal and professional respect and from whom I was seeking advice, I felt the burning flame of my embarrassment crawl across my face. {I'm a terrible poker player, not because my eyes or my movements give me away, but because my rosy cheeks are a tell-tale sign of self-consciousness or discomfort}. I searched for an escape, a way out of answering the probing question.
After another anticipatory moment of silence, he smiled and instructed me that I had a homework assignment. "Come back in two weeks (!) and give me an answer", he stated plainly. "Great", I thought sarcastically, "two weeks to chart a course for the rest of my life. Sure, no problem!"
As the conversation wrapped up, I felt a strange nagging sensation that in fact, I do have an answer to the question so often reserved for kindergartners learning for the first time of the power that their youth and their dreams hold. Perhaps I know exactly what I want to be "when I grow up", so to speak... perhaps I was just too ashamed to admit it.
I spent the afternoon and the next few days considering both the question and that nagging feeling. Why, if as young children we're told we can be anything we dream of being, anything we set our minds to, should I ever feel ashamed of proclaiming those dreams? Why, in a moment of pure honesty, couldn't I admit that the dreams I once had for myself have changed, and indeed changed again?
I once dreamed of being a performer -- I wanted to be a Broadway star, or a recording artist -- anyone who could sell out enormous theatres and perform in front of thousands of people. {In my most stripped-down, honest moments, I still do}.
When I decided to go to Barnard and pursue a college education and a major in Economic History, I began dreaming of becoming a corporate executive, a high-powered career woman in finance.
I began working, met Hubs, and started to build a life comprised of so many rewarding facets I'd never even considered before. And once again, my dream changed.
So what do I want to be when I grow up?
I want to be a Godly woman, a supportive wife, a loving mother of as many kids as God will grant me. I want to sing in the praise team on Sunday mornings and read bedtime stories at night. I want to own a dance studio committed to discipline and excellence in the art of dance and teach young girls the importance of realizing their self-worth.
Maybe I'll never walk the red carpet at the Oscars or grace the big stage on Broadway. Maybe I'll never win a Grammy or run a multi-national corporation. But I plan to run as hard and as fast as I can after those goals. And I pray I leave behind a legacy of love, hard work, artistry and compassion as I do.
So next week, when I walk back into that man's office to turn in my "homework assignment", I may not be as poetic in my explanation, but I pray that I can report proudly on my dreams with confidence and conviction.
What about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?
