A friend asked this question:
“Are you living the life you had planned for yourself?”
My first impulse is to say “No, I’m not”, simply because my life, for so many years, was lived in the moment. My brush with death (in the form of a cancer diagnosis) left me feeling that life was much too tenuous to plan for. I can distinctly remember getting to college and feeling overwhelmed with the victory of having lived so long–much longer than I had really anticipated. I sat on the plaza near the library looking over Aldich Park nearly overwhelmed with the joy of actually ‘being there.’ At the same time I realized that I was in process of making some important decisions–college major, future career path, etc–and I really didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t really planned on making it that far.
As I reflect on the question more, I think that I _am_ living the life I planned for myself. Since I was a little girl I dreamed about being a mother and having lovely, intelligent chidren. I’ve always wanted to get a Ph.D. like my Dad–those three letters held such promise and prestige. I expected that my life would be filled with passion; I wanted to love someone desperately and have that love reciprocated in generous amounts. I wanted to eat good food, play hard, and wear myself out every day. I wanted to write books, to teach, to help others feel better about themselves.
All of these things I have either accomplished or they are within a few years’ reach.
I am a lucky girl. I say this with a feeling of restlessness, though. A huge part of me still expects that I will die soon. A huge part of me wants MORE. But then I take a deep breath and realize that life just can’t get much better than this. No matter what the future holds.
What about you, dear reader. Are you “living the life you had planned for yourself?”