When I grow up I want to be a ... (Part 2)

Don’t talk about it, be about it.

We often deny ourselves the opportunity to pursue (seemingly selfish) passions by blaming our responsibilities.  We are convinced that, by investing in ourselves, we will somehow derail our golden paths to retirement.  As a consolation, we are allowed to lament over the day-to-day drudgery associated with our lives. We commiserate over discontentment at work, our lack of finances, our doubts about our mate, the disappointment of our children, and everything else contributing to a bland existence.

Dreams are inconvenient, and often expensive. Plus, we have kids to feed, a mortgage to pay.  So we continue on that path, holding tightly to the promise of an easier life, which will only come after the prime of our lives have passed.

My loved one has a bottle of an ultra brut champagne in the kitchen – from Napa Valley’s Domaine Carneros. Many mornings I stare at it, wanting to try it in a mimosa.  But in the end, I always go for the less appealing alternative knowing that he is saving it for “a special occasion.”  I have a hard time comfortably prescribing to a school of thought that is centered on denying ourselves a bubbly brunch treat today, with the hope that there would be some earth-shattering experience somewhere later in life more worthy of that treat. 

Life is unpredictable.  It is quite possible that the bottle of champagne will never be opened while he is alive.  In tribute, I promise to drink it in a celebration of him.  I will even pour a sip over his grave so he can celebrate with me. Absurd is the thought of him enjoying his brut after death; yet, many of us continue to live muffled lives with anticipation of greater times in the future.  For me, that all changed following the loss of both of my parents.  I spent hours upon hours, upon months and years, lamenting over the things I wished I had said or done, and experiences I wished I’d had.

My mother wanted us to take a trip – just the two of us.  She’d say, “You go all these places with your girlfriends, but you haven’t gone anywhere with me.” I would sheepishly agree and begin a feigned conversation about the places we could go.  But we never took that trip. Time ran out. I wish I would have put my mom in the car, drove down the coast, had a nice dinner, and relaxed by the ocean.  Right in that moment. But I was somehow fooled into thinking that I was the master of time, I said I would do it later.

Time sure showed me.

Over the last few years, I slowly began to lose interest in my line of work.  It was not so much the work, as it was the politics and bureaucracy.  But I still went in, day-after-day, despite feeling as if I was slowly losing my soul.  “Five more years” I would say to coach myself along, knowing that my early retirement from education was imminent and my bed and breakfast dreams would be realized.  Five more years. Then four. Then three. Then I was crying in the car on the way to work, dreading the time I would have to spend there. I would cry behind my closed door.  I would cry on my way home. “Two more years” quickly became too much to bare.  On that day I decided that I could no longer shirk my purpose, quiet my dreams or sacrifice my time.  That day I understood I would have no future in which to invest, if I did not stop to nourish myself. 

So, my tenure as a school principal ended, and my new work in hospitality began.

Life is not an accident, so we must live on purpose. You’ve been meaning to join a ballroom dancing class? Do it! You want to learn to play the guitar? Hire a teacher. You want to run a horse ranch? Giddie up! Do something to feed your soul. After all, we are spiritual beings having a human experience, so it only makes sense that we do all that there is to do while we are here.

I assure you, there is not enough money and accolades, there is no position, and no amount of power, that is worth compromising happiness during the precious 86,400 seconds we have in each day. 

MORAL : There is no tomorrow. Live today.