Growing Up

So the first time I went to college I was not a good student. I was too immature, too distracted, too...interested in boys? There just seemed to be so many other exciting life experiences to be had and making it to 8 am class wasn't high on that list. Plus I am not good at change. And I like to be home. And I didn't know what I wanted to "be"...besides a wife and mom. I was still becoming myself, so I wasn't sure how to figure out how to decide what vocation to commit to. Yikes.

I took floral design, interior design, theater make-up, drawing, cooking, and guitar classes in an effort to follow my interests and passions. None of those things seemed like "serious" enough paths to be respectable. So I switched gears, took Myers Briggs tests, spoke to counselors, and settled between Landscape Architect or Recreational Therapy. I picked Recreational Therapy...which is a real thing. It was interesting and fun. I got to work with children, put my tye-dye booth organizing skills to work, and earn a Bachelors Degree while finding a husband and growing up a bit. About half-way through the program I had grown up enough to realize that I actually wanted to be a nurse.

Maybe I was still chasing respectability. Maybe I was disappointed in myself for not realizing my academic potential. Maybe I was tired of trying to explain what a Recreational Therapist does. For sure I was still trying to figure out who I was.

So the second time I went to college, I was a marginally better student. Nursing school was intense. I still had a hard time sitting through hours of lecture, but I found I was suited for the subject matter and liked working with and caring for people. I was married--more settled--more sure. I graduated again.

Although I learned a ton and grew immensely while working as a nurse in the NICU, I won't lie...I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief when I finally quit when I was about 7 months pregnant with Avery. I hadn't realized how emotionally taxing that job was while I was in the throws of it. I told them when I quit that I'd likely come back. I knew that I wouldn't.

So here I am, 28 (can that be right?), the mother of a 15 month old, and still trying to figure out what I want to be. I spend a lot of time thinking about how I want to spend my time so that when I am 95, looking back on my life I won't regret too many things. I have grown up enough now to realize that its never too late to be the person you could have been (I totally read that on a billboard...but I believe it.) and to not really care if people think that my vocation is respectable. I have grown up enough also to realize that time is valuable and should not be wasted on things that are not getting me closer to becoming that person.

What I really want to do with my time is be home with my baby and make things. And it'd be nice if there were a way to do both, and also make some money.

And so I am going back to college this fall for the 3rd time (you know what they say about the 3rd time!). I have a feeling I'll pay more attention to my class and spend more time studying my text-book. I am taking a pattern making class, and I couldn't be more excited.

Because I am old enough to do what I really want to-- Old enough to have realized that, "who I am," will take my whole life-time to become. And although I am a sort of chubby, almost thirty-year-old mom, who hasn't taken any prerequisites, joining a class with a whole bunch of really stylish 20-year-old aspiring fashion designers...I am old enough not to care.

Wish me luck!