I was a writer.
In fifth grade, I wrote a poem. My teacher read it out loud to the class, and I felt special with the praise that came with it. For years, growing up, I wanted the words that I wrote to become my identity. I wanted to be a writer more than anything else–I majored in English in college; I wrote novels and short stories and poems.
That wasn’t what I wanted to be when I grew up: I was a writer back then. I still have most of the words that I have written, and I am proud of them.
But I did grow up. I got old and boring and started caring about things differently. I started to understand more about how the world worked, and not just how I wanted it to work. The world changed to. I’m not a writer anymore like I used to be: writing will always be part of my life, but I have other interests now.
I keep thinking about my next step. I got an undergraduate degree in economics and I want to go to graduate school. I think. Maybe? I’ve rethought my life and my goals constantly lately. I’m still uncertain: my kids are getting older, and I have different time available in different places of my life.
I consider different paths in front of me: economics, data science, working in a job, creating my own business–these are my possible side hustles as I play the main game of being a mom, and they are important to me.
I feel clarity with one word right now: educator. Because I love learning the very most, and I love helping other people. I’m not quite sure where that word will take me or how long it will last, but it’s something to work towards for now.
Uncertainty is sort of a familiar companion that will never really go away; I am not sure what the future holds, but I know some possibilities in front of me, and that’s enough.
Later in life, I’ll probably grow up more than I already have, and I’ll get even older and think about things even more differently. I’ll reinvent myself and change how I spend my time and what I do. Because that’s life: ever evolving, one step at a time. I’ll never know the ending.