Dead Dreams

When I was younger, I never worried about what I was going to be when I grew up. No matter the job title, I always envisioned myself being challenged, happy and financially secure. Yet, here I sit, a couple of decades later, bored, depressed, unchallenged and still yearning for financial comfort. I feel unproductive at the end of the day and unimportant. I strive to over-achieve and later wonder why when being efficient has become counter-productive. I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong; at what point did my dream bust into a million pieces and settle as this reality...and the moment comes to me:

 I was a sophomore in college and had just barely passed Calculus. I asked my “advisor” how much more of these types of classes I needed to get into med-school. He said, “Four more semesters.” I heard, “You’re doomed.” That was the point I gave up. I know it is. I gave up my dream and realized I wasn’t smart enough to be what I wanted to be. It was the first time in my life I thought and believed I wasn’t good enough. Since then, I have been settling when it comes to work and struggling to find what it is I am passionate about.

I continued to work at the canoe livery that had employed me since the age of 15 for another two summers after college. I wandered around, moved here and there. I was an outside sales rep for about a hot minute, then an Accounting Clerk, then … get this … the receptionist at a dating agency called Great Expectations. There’s a good chance that was my rock bottom. I think being a dating agency receptionist would be anyone’s rock bottom. It was horrific and thankfully short-lived. I never even bothered to tell them I quit. I just stopped showing up. That’s how bad it was. I had to video-tape (yes, like VHS video-tape) some poor, middle-aged divorced man’s bio and watching him struggle to sell himself was embarrassing and sad, for both of us.

I ended up temping for a third-party logistics company and it took me six months to land a permanent position there as a Customer Service Representative. It was a good job, nice people for the most part and stable in the beginning. I was hired at its peak as the building busted at the seams with happy and smiling employees. I then slowly watched it disintegrate into nothing as they closed the office doors five years later. I was one of the last ones standing at 333 W. Grandview Parkway. It wasn’t as if it was my dream job or I thought I’d retire there. But I made myself valuable, knowledgeable and an expert.

I took 10 months off to raise my kids. During that time, I realized I am not a stay-at-home mom either. About 70% of the time was amazing. Sleeping in, no schedule, no boss, no deadlines, no bureaucratic bullshit to speak of. But the other 30% weighed heavy. I needed to be challenged, I needed to have an adult conversation, I needed time away from my kids I’m ashamed to say, I needed to feel productive and smart and valuable. I needed to say, “Thank God it’s Friday!”, and then have a weekend to look forward to after that. And that 30% led me here.

Here I sit, 11 years after the dissolving of my dream, no further than I was before. I feel silly, lazy and too old to start over.

Don’t get me wrong, I have accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. I found a husband, a good one at that. We have two amazingly gorgeous and awesome daughters. We have a house that we’ve made our own and a pretty amazing life together. They fill my cup. And they deserve more from me. How can I tell my kids to exhaust their potential when I didn’t do it myself?

It’s difficult to sit here every day, knowing I’m capable of so much more, knowing I could give more to my family, knowing I could produce more, engage more, be more. Yet in these times it seems getting a job, any job, is a great accomplishment. Hearing “You’re hired!” is worth a lot, no matter who says it. There’s no more shooting for the stars, just settle for anything.

I could blame that damn advisor. He could’ve offered me something, some encouragement, some alternatives, some sort of safety net for my dream that was otherwise shattered. But he just let it hit the ground, I guess to see what I would do with the pieces. I’m ashamed to say they’re still lying on his office floor and that is 100% my fault.

Now I’m waiting for something to ignite me and it’s yet to come. Maybe because I am consistently dependent upon some outside factor when I know, deep down, I have to light my own fire.