There is a picture of me with a pen to my lips smiling. I was about three. I remember Mommy reading to me at night and being drawn in by the words more than the pictures. When people would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up I would say a best selling children’s book author and Shelia E. It is quite obvious I haven’t quite reached either goal–yet.
When I reached high school, I decided being Shelia E was a long shot, but becoming an Editor-in-Chief of a major magazine, living in an NY loft apartment with a closet full of amazing clothes and a revolving bed full of Adonises was achievable. I could graduate early, go to college early, BS/Masters/PhD in one six year fell swoop, retire by 35, dedicate 10 years or so to writing books, maybe get married, perhaps have one kid and by the time I was 45 settle down at a university and teach English to uninterested 18 year olds. I was a woman with a plan.
I understand the journey I have been lucky enough to take is just that–a journey. Journeys are not meant to wrap up nice and neat. They are continuous excursions with moving parts. They are never point A/point B simple. That’s what trips are for. This journey is ever changing and nothing is set in stone, and after some growth it finally clicked: My travels are not done until I am taken outta here.
I have 5 years until my nest is completely empty and what happens after that? I want to go back to school. Yes, I have attempted it before–quite a few times actually–and yes, I have said I was going back before only to get derailed. The plan (EIC, Adonises, NY loft, etc) was skewed a bit. It got a little clouded, but why can’t I pick up where the dream left off? I am 35 now. Not retired, but I am 35. I can still dedicate 10 years to writing. I can still maneuver through BS/Masters/PhD landing in a classroom at 45 with uninterested 18 year old students calling me Dr. Van Dunk. That is possible…all of it…and for once I am not afraid of any possibility.