endless possibilities

The other day, Lucy said to me, "I know what I am going to be when I grow up." And attentive mom that I am, I popped my head up from my facebook account and said, "Oh really? What are you going to be?" To which Lucy replied, "An artist." (brief digression...I understand why author Cormac McCarthy writes all his dialogue without quotation marks -- punctuation is kind of a pain.)

Now at various times in the recent past, Lucy has wanted to be: a veterinarian -- until she helped our friend Andrea clean out the disgustingly stinky ears of my mom's new (pre-owned, but without Honda's generous 200-point certification) dog; a professional ice skater -- but since she only takes one lesson a week and never practices, this seems unlikely; and of course, a rock star -- she and her friend Dylan have even started a band, but Lucy plays no instruments, and Dylan can only play two chords on his guitar, and thus, one song ("What amazing song could that be?" you are asking yourself. Well, America's "A Horse With No Name," of course. What seven-year old's musical repertoire would be complete without that classic? It's in your head now, isn't it? Sorry. Really. Welcome to my world.)

But an artist? That was new. But then Lucy went on to explain why she thought this was an appropriate career path. "Well, Mom. You just said that you liked that picture that I drew of Erica today. You said you thought it was really good. So I think I might be an artist."

Wow. Imagine how this could apply in adult life. You change the big water bottle in the cooler at work (which I have to do all the time because the women I work with are little girly babies), and someone compliments you on how strong you are, and you think, "You know, you're right. I am really strong. I think I might quit my job as an __________ (insert unsatisfying job here), and become a professional weightlifter, or maybe a lumberjack." Or you drive through West Philadelphia to the Vietnamese deli for a tofu hoagie, and your husband comments on your excellent navigational skills (this part of the story is ripped from the headlines, as they say on Law and Order), and you decide right then and there to leave everything behind to become a long-haul truck driver, or a navigator on the space shuttle. The possibilities are endless.

But for better or worse, now that I am an adult (and Jocelyn, in response to your Peter Pan blog post, I don't think anyone ever really feels like a grown-up), the possibilities just don't feel as possible as they did when I was seven (I wanted to work in a pet store. I guess this is actually an attainable goal. Does anyone know if PetSmart is hiring?). I have been thinking a lot about this lately, largely due to recent employment-related anxiety. If I really put my mind to it, could I quit my job, sell my house, and pack up the family for a big move to England, and a job in a coffee shop? Could I hop off the career path, go to grad school for an art degree, and then live the bohemian life of an artiste? And perhaps more importantly, do I really want to? I don't know the answer to this. I would say that I am 95% satisfied with my life -- love my family, house, and creature comforts -- but that 5% dissatisfaction (or maybe just curiosity?) is always in the back of my mind, nagging at me. Maybe this is just a natural resistance to growing up.

I do know for sure, though, that if Lucy wants to be an artist...or a veterinarian...or a rock star, I will be behind her 100% of the way. (Maybe only 95% for ice skating....that is just so not my scene.)