I recently stumbled upon a claim that suggests we spend the majority of our lives in the first two decades of our existence, with the remainder merely devoted to processing those years. I’m still undecided if this is the most disheartening thing I’ve ever encountered or a strange source of comfort, but I suspect it’s nonsense. Regardless, it did make me think because I recognize there’s a significant turning point in life—right around my 30s—when living shifts from planning and aspiring to simply being present in the moment.
Maybe things haven’t unfolded as I had once envisioned. Admitting that feels difficult, doesn’t it? Because I believe that life is developing exactly as it should, but that doesn’t align with the dreams I held as a child, when I was just six years old, excitedly reading through the Constitution my mother gave me. I remember running to share my revelation that nowhere in that document did it state I couldn’t be president just because I was a girl—pants still around my ankles.
Fast forward to today, and my life choices—like marrying young and starting a family—have led to realities that don’t always fit the ideals I had imagined. I won’t be a professional dancer or a surgeon, and the dream of becoming a homebirth midwife has slipped away. It’s not just career aspirations that have faded; I can’t even manage a garden, and animals seem to dislike me. Despite wanting to master Mexican cuisine for years, my culinary skills have not progressed beyond melting cheese and shouting “ole.” It’s a little sad.
Yet, I’ve ticked off many of the significant milestones of adulthood: high school and college graduation, marriage, homeownership, and raising my children. I have a career I enjoy, and a hobby that brings me even more joy. The hard work of striving seems to be behind me, and I’m (mostly) prepared to embrace the rewards of what I’ve achieved.
You’d think this would be the easy part, but paradoxically, it’s often the hardest. Who could have predicted that this phase—where we settle into the choices we’ve made and stop agonizing over the next steps—would be so complex? Anticipating the future was challenging, yes, but it was a thrilling kind of challenge filled with hope. Now, we find ourselves looking inward, realizing that despite the joy and chaos of life, a sense of longing remains.
So, I’m going to say it: I had dreams that were bigger than this. Bigger than navigating the piles of laundry with a tired body and a mind still echoing the joy of running through my childhood home, waving that faux parchment as if it were a banner of victory. In some ways, I’ve exchanged those dreams for something else—though it’s a deal I’d happily make again.
I’m not complaining. I’m merely pointing out the unfairness of perpetuating the myth that we can have it all. The truth is, we can’t. We may obtain incredible, beautiful experiences and fragments of many dreams. If you’re fortunate, like I am, you might even have a mother-in-law who embodies grace and lends a hand with the kids while you pursue a fulfilling career. Yet, a part of me never truly leaves them behind during the workday, which means I can’t be fully present at work or at home, where I’m always on call.
We often divide ourselves into pieces, scattering our energy among various aspects of life, hoping it will be enough. Is it? I genuinely believe it is. It’s also acceptable to mourn the loss of some of those earlier dreams. Life with young children is a balancing act. We choose what we can manage and learn to accept what we cannot, all while trying to maintain our balance on this tightrope of existence, which is neither easy nor glamorous.
As much as I wish to be a trailblazer like Gloria Steinem, I’m just a weary mother to four kids, often caught between my past aspirations and my current reality. But there’s one crucial fact to keep in mind: we are not finished. Our children will not remain babies forever; they, like us, will evolve, and life will continually present us with surprises. We should never stop dreaming, not even for a moment. To the person who claimed we only truly live for the first 20 years—sorry, but I have far more living planned.
Sure, my dreams have transformed. You wouldn’t catch me aspiring to be president anymore, but now I seek enlightenment or perhaps that elusive yoga arm balance. Just yesterday, my dream was simply to get out of bed in the morning, and this weekend, I hoped to enjoy an entire movie with my husband without interruption. Tomorrow, I might learn to make tamales or tackle world-saving, depending on how much coffee I can manage in the morning. Ultimately, what matters is that we continue to dream, even if those dreams feel small against the backdrop of our busy lives. None of us can predict where our paths will lead, but I’m eagerly anticipating the journey ahead—even if it means occasionally forgetting to pull up my pants.
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Summary
This article reflects on the complexities of adult life, highlighting the inevitable shifts in dreams and aspirations as one transitions from childhood to parenthood. It emphasizes the importance of being present in various roles while acknowledging the challenges of balancing responsibilities. Ultimately, it champions the notion of continuing to dream and adapt as life evolves.