When I grow up I want to be a ... (Part 1)

My mom had full bookshelves in every room of our house.  I read every single word, on every single page, of every single book. At least, until I met The Iliad. By that time, I was wise enough to know, that I was not wise enough to understand what was on the pages of that book. So, I went outside.

I played outside with friends. I played outside with rocks. My mother would always say, “Only stupid people get bored.” At the time, I made little sense of that statement but I knew it meant that the mention of boredom was unacceptable in our household. Once, in response to my indicating I was bored, my grandmother fashioned a “doll” from a broom and sent me to the shed to play. So, I imagined.

I was a smart, enthusiastic learner – labeled gifted.  I did well in school and very early on took an interest in the humanities.  Already in love with words, I excelled in reading and writing and did so regularly. As time went on, I became entranced with history and civics.  I distinctly remember the time and attention I gave to my essay on the thirteenth president, Millard Fillmore, in third grade.  And even more vividly remember coming to school dressed as Angela Davis for a report in fifth grade – down to the blow-out natural and power to the people pick.  I cannot pinpoint the moment, but somewhere in between my time as Angela Davis, and ninth grade year, I was dead set on being a lobbyist. Yes … a lobbyist.  Moving on …

I entered college a declared Politics major, certain that I would spend my future roaming the halls of Capitol Hill “fighting the good fight” for worthy causes. Until one day there was a career fair in the college quad and I had a long conversation with a recruiter for the FBI.  I was on the right track!  Being a politics major would lend well to a career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation; however, lacking any special skill or second language proficiency, my best bet was to pursue a law degree to do well. So, I became pre-law.

During my sophomore year, the Good Lord spoke to me.  He said I should go into ministry, like my grandma.  Out of obedience, I went to the academic affairs office and changed my major to Religious Studies.  I thought this would be sufficient preparation for seminary. I loved the existential nature of the class discussions.  So much nicer to talk about than NATO and missiles.  I lived in this theological bliss bubble for an entire trimester, until my report card reached my father’s hands.  He called, confused about the course load.  I explained to him, with plenty of enthusiasm, that I wanted to be a missionary.  And then he explained to me, with more enthusiasm, exactly how I would go back to academic affairs and restore my standing as a politics major.  So, I did.

For the next two years, everything went well, as far as chosen life paths go. I took the LSAT, applied to law school, received acceptance, and then got pregnant.  The law school I was planning to attend was in Washington, DC, while my family was in Oakland.  Not feeling confident in my ability to attend law school and raise a baby, I decided to move back home to attend graduate school. I enrolled in the substitute teacher pool in the local district and was immediately given a long-term assignment as a special education teacher.  I stayed. I obtained a teaching license.  And then I taught for eight years.  Followed by another nine years as a school principal.

It took an eighty-hour per week job, three kids, and a dog for me to realize that I had not yet grown up.  Because I was not who I wanted to be.

The death of my parents brought about many things, one of which was clarity.  It became abundantly clear that my success was engrained in my personal happiness.  And that my personal happiness was rooted in how I was investing my time, my energy, my emotion and my passion. 

Moreover, the root of my extreme unhappiness (and by that, I mean misery) was a result of my sacrificing my life to external measures of success. “Only stupid people get bored.” My mother was sure, and I now agree, that those who rely on outside forces (things and people separate from themselves) to be stimulated, engaged or entertained; show a lack of intellectual, social or emotional fortitude to do those things for themselves.  Surely a personal tenant we could all work to develop on some level.  But mostly, I think she wanted me to understand that wise people learn to enhance their own lives; and those who do not work to augment their personal experience are foolish.

MORAL: When you rely on others to enhance the quality of your life, you end up in a shed, with a broom stick, calling it a doll.