I wrote a post about being born in the wrong era, and I figured I would explain it a little bit more for those of you who think I'm crazy. There actually was a time when I wanted a career and a family.
Once upon a time I had a dream.
Ever since I could remember, I loved animals (a love which I am hoping to pass on to J) and wanted nothing more than to work with them. I was going to be a veterinarian. Yes, a lot of little girls want to be vets but I really wanted it. My high school required all students to complete 40 hours of community service over the course of four years in order to graduate. When I heard this in the very beginning of ninth grade, I immediately got to work.
I sent letters to all of the veterinary practices in my small Connecticut shoreline town explaining who I was and asking if they would let me come and volunteer. I would clean cages, feed animals or just spend time with those who needed a little something extra. I heard back from one. They told me that they didn't need the help right now, but I could check back in in a few months. I followed up and they took me on.
I loved working at the animal hospital. I took it seriously and I was good at it. When my 40 hours were up, I was offered a paid, part-time position and by the time I was a senior in high school, I was doing everything a licensed technician could do. They trusted me! I had absolutely no doubts that this was what I wanted to spend my life doing.
When I started college, I knew that I was horrible at math. I had struggled with it throughout high school and grew to hate it. However, in college I did my best to change my attitude. I needed math and I wanted to be good at it. I took advantage of professors' office hours, TAs, and even set up tutoring.
When I was working through problems with someone, I got it. When I sat down to take my tests, I was confident. And then I would get the test back with grades in the 20s. Once I even scored a 14. I just kept failing. The second algebra professor I had, Professor Don, announced on the first day that she did not allow the use of calculators under any circumstances. I immediately started to panic. I stayed after class to talk to her. I explained that my goal was veterinary school but math was a huge obstacle for me. Instead of giving me some tips, she laughed in my face and told me I was setting myself up for failure. This made me want to try even harder and I refused to drop her class. I was going to show her. Well, she was right. I failed. Again.
I took Algebra four times in college before I passed it (the last time I took it was at a local community college so that I could get a C+ and only the credit would transfer over to the University). It was awful. My parents told me that they weren't paying all this money for me to be on academic probation (I kept failing Chemistry too because it required lots of math) and if I didn't find a new major, I was going to have to find a way to pay for school on my own. That's when I started majoring in English.
I was good at English. I loved reading (I had loved reading my entire life) and writing papers. My GPA went up significantly (I was only .4 points away from graduating Cum Laude) and my parents were happy. Then came the big question: what am I going to do with an English degree? Someone suggested becoming an English teacher. Since vet school was now out of the question because of math, I literally shrugged and said, "Okay, I guess". Becoming a vet was the only career I had ever considered for myself. There were no other options for me. And so I just picked teaching because I had to pick something.
It took me years to get over the fact that the one big dream I had in my life was dead and gone. And even now, if I really think about it, I can't say that I'm completely over it. Any drive I had to be a successful career woman died with my dreams of veterinary school (I had wanted to build my own practice like the amazing one I worked for in high school). Teaching was a job. Nothing more (I don't even think I was really any good at it) and nothing less. It wasn't awful; I met a lot of great kids, but it wasn't anything I was passionate about.
I look at one of my best friends now. She is a machine, working her way up the corporate ladder in a world I know nothing about. But I hear her stories - most recently about how she just negotiated herself an office so that she could do some freelance work during her down time and not be bothered - and every so often I feel a pang. A little pang that wishes I had her drive to be a successful businesswoman negotiating an office for myself. And then I feel a touch of inadequacy. For the first time since I was 14 years old, I don't have a job. I don't have a career. What could I, or should I, have done differently?
The pangs do go away, eventually. I love being a mom and I'm sure that someday I can use my failure to teach my daughter about perseverance; to follow her dreams no matter how hard the road.
One thing I know for sure is that I will do everything I can to make sure that she follows her dreams. If she happens to develop a passion for helping animals and wants to go spend a summer volunteering at The Lion Park in South Africa (I wanted to go work with the hyenas after watching a special on Discovery Channel), then I will make sure she gets on a plane and goes. I want her to have passion, and I want her to be driven. I never want her to feel as though she missed out on something or settled for a career because she just had to pick something. I want her to feel like she is good at what she does, and that it is worthwhile. I want her to feel all of the things I would have felt had I not let failure get the best of me.
Right now I don't understand why, but I guess it was all a part of God's plan for me. Maybe He needed me in that school. Maybe I helped or changed a student and still don't even know it - or will never know it. I just have to trust that my failure was all part of a grander plan, and hope that I can use it to teach J.
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