Last night I had a couple of interesting dreams in which my brother had something I love, namely my old red Mustang and a Queen Anne mansion Hubby and I toyed with buying and restoring ($15k! I could still kick myself!). In the dreams, I was kind of shaky about the whole thing. Why does my brother have these things that matter to me and why don’t I have them??
Lately, there have been some things going on in my life that have had me thinking about the direction of my life. I have been closely considering the decisions I’ve made through the lens of knowing that a decision is about to be made by someone else that could drastically alter how I see myself. At only 31, I have been solid about the life that I’ve pursued, careful not to have an unplanned pregnancy or some other wrench thrown into the works, diligently pursuing my education and a career (15 years in the making) and a love with whom to start a family and a home. I have been careful and I have been single minded. I have plodded along like I was on a never ending quest, which is really what life is. Now, what I have always perceived to be the next step is here and in somebody else’s hands.
I have been looking at my life and thinking about it and wondering what is going to happen and what I can do and if I really am who I thought that I was.
This morning, I thought about my brother and I wondered if maybe I was jealous of him. My brother has a nice house, twice the size of mine which doesn’t say much, and has taken over the family business so has very flexible hours and a kind of control in his work life that would be tempting to anybody. Am I jealous of these things? Well, yes and no. I am happy for my brother and his nice house but it is not the kind of house that I would pick. I’d rather have that Queen Anne. I am happy for my brother and relieved that he took over the family business because I know that it was important to my father but I also know that I’m glad I’m not the one getting the phone calls at 3 AM.
I thought, “If only I’d gone into diesel mechanics!” Then I realized that I was being silly. I am not a diesel mechanic kind of girl. I am a book girl. I know books like my father knew semis and that makes me PROUD.
I am what I am and, no matter what happens, it is what it is. I cannot help who I am. I can only do my best with it.