Sitting outside Paper & Cup with a cappuccino and a rare "day off," watching professionals walk by and reflecting that I've never been a professional anything. Not really.
I'm just an English major wannabe with a smattering of part time work experience who's raised three stellar humans, can pull off a mean haircut after thirty years experience and no formal training, is adequate at a piano and mic, can toss out medical terminology well enough to be continually mistaken for a nurse, is a decent caregiver and amateur social worker, though I aspired to neither of those roles. Some say I can write.
I guess I'm good at absorbing skills well enough to fake my way through most things, self-taught being the kinder term. Forever finding a way to be whatever life needs me to be.
Will I ever be a professional anything? I don't know. Does it matter? Probably not. But what would I choose if I could? I have a few ideas. Will life ever grant enough breath and space to pursue anything? Will I be brave enough to go for the gap if I see one? Will I be too tired of being brave to care?
These are my day off musings.
My cappuccino is long gone. The petite professional in the cute black and white dress and sweet heels caught my eye as she walked by for the third time. We shared a smile. It's easy to imagine that her life is as amazing as those shoes, but I'll bet she has to be brave every day too.
