Maybe it’s because I’m newly 40, but more likely it’s because classic R.E.M. seems to be on the radio every time I am driving alone in my car, but lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how amazingly different life can turn out from what you think it will be when you are 18.
According to my original plan, I would have been a famous novelist by 30 (a revision from 21 that happened when I started college and became distracted by frat parties and co-ed dorms). I would at this point be traveling the world, have houses all over the place and be churning out another prize-winning novel every year. Oh, and my books of course would have all been made into Oscar-winning films so I would be married to a movie star. An extremely hot, forever young movie star.
Sense anything major missing there? Yup, as hard as it is to believe, at 18 I never even really thought about kids. It was all about me. Even the husband role was basically just eye candy. As I told Dan last night as we watched American Idol and I lamented the fact that I just can’t quite sing no matter how bad I want it, damn it, I was meant to be famous.
So what happened?
To tell you the truth, I don’t know and I didn’t really even notice it happening. I had the typically tumultuous twenties, made all the rookie mistakes, and then met a great guy and realized that what I really wanted was children. As many of them as I could convince him to let me have, which appears to be three (unless somehow he has some kind of mental breakdown or a bout of amnesia where I can mold him as I wish—ah, every wife’s dream).
Believe me, I don’t regret one second of the last ten years. And there are no more precious people to me than my three babies.
But again, still, one has to wonder, after all that education, all those prizes, all those dreams, what happened? Why am I making school lunches when I should have been giving speeches?
Two weeks ago Dan and I had the amazing privilege of bringing the kids to SFO and watching Air Force One land. We even got to meet the President. It was a huge day, especially for two people as devoted to The West Wing as us. In typical suburban family fashion, we got horrifically lost and were running around like mad people trying to find where we were supposed to be. We saw two extremely well dressed, good looking people and asked them if they were there to see Obama.
They were. As part of the administration.
Once we were in the right place, I couldn’t help but keep staring at this man and woman. They were likely the same age as us. They had on gorgeous clothes, power ties and jewelry. Their hair was clean and even combed. They were the people Dan and I thought we were going to be. And we were those other people—those tacky families I would roll my eyes at when I was 18. We were dressed as if we were going to Disneyland in the rain, with big overcoats, baseball hats, kids with sweet rosy cheeks but big runny noses. We cheered at the people on the other side of the gate.
Somewhere along the line we’d forgotten that we were supposed to be over there with them.
That very same weekend, Dan and I had another amazing privilege. We went to the city with friends and stayed overnight. In a hotel. Alone. This, my friends, has not happened since I was pregnant with my second child. So, it was a long time coming. And it was karaoke. So it was my dream night.
We sang until the bar closed. I talked with random strangers. I laughed more than I have laughed in ages. And in all, Dan and I just had the best time together we’ve had probably in years. I felt on a high for days after that night, plotting and scheming of how I could get back to that karaoke bar as soon as possible. I didn’t even care that my pocketbook had gotten stolen there. I just wanted to sing.
But then, the days went by. Life got busy with the big things again. Danny had to move tables at school and was devastated to have to sit a foot away from his best friend. Jay took a marker to the house, proving once and for all that washable markers are a lie. Annie tried to hold it too long and peed all over herself and the bathroom floor at ballet.
And Danny made little heart cards and placed them all over the house for me. Annie held my hand and asked me to tell her just one more story as we walked home from school. Jay told me he loved me as he gave me his big, sloppy kisses.
Dan and I sat in the living room, working away as we watched American Idol and saw those same young people we once were live out their dreams.
And I realized that it was all OK. I don’t need to be famous. I’m happy. Life is far from perfect. I’ll probably never have all those houses, and maybe not even write that novel. But I have a husband I love and I have three amazing humans to nurture and love for all of my years. If I’d followed my original dreams, they wouldn’t exist. And I would trade all the riches and fame in the world for just one day with my babies.
But that’s not to say I won’t be trying to work in some more karaoke nights. And that’s definitely not to say I won’t be hoping that one of my kids might just someday be the next American Idol.
Hey, a girl has got to dream.
