Growing Up. What Do You Want to Be… THIS Time?

I woke thinking about this question: What do you want to do when you grow up? Ha! Don’t we badger our kids with this subject from the time they’re very young? Thirty years later, when we ourselves are (at last!) headed into our own second or third chapters, aren’t we asking ourselves that question — if we’re lucky?

Whenever anyone asked my firstborn what he wanted to do or be when he was an adult, his answer was consistent — “a doctor.” It remained his response for a good dozen years, and then, like so many of us, his sense of possibility opened up as an adolescent and in college. He is not a doctor.

My younger son? He, too, had a singular answer for a dozen years or more: an artist. His response morphed into something more “practical” — an architect — a profession he is now pursuing, though art and music continue to hold his heart.

What I Wanted to Be “When I Grew Up”

My own goals as a child?

I wanted to be a writer, an artist, a fashion designer. I wanted to be a polyglot — a word I learned at a very young age, and a promise I fulfilled only to a minor degree by speaking French, now rusty Russian, and a somewhat paltry smattering of other languages. Looking back, wife and mother were never in my dreams of adulthood. But everything that was about writing and words and drawing and visuals was.

Over the past several years I’ve bumped into those childhood dreams as I’ve packed and unpacked in the process of relocating — tiny drawings of gowns and dresses in pretty little notebooks, pencil or pen-and-ink portraits ranging from “Breck girls” to Baudelaire (really!), filling sketchbooks both large and small.

I have to say, some of the fashions bring a smile; they’re very fetching! They reveal my influences of the time, even as a seven- or eight-year-old — traces of Liz Taylor chiffon gowns, very “Butterfield 8,” Givenchy silks on Audrey Hepburn (Sabrina!). Oh, the exquisite necklines! The glorious fabrics! I remember jaunts with my mother to the local five and dime where we would run our fingers over the bolts of tulle or kettle cloth, ooo-ing and ah-ing over the newest materials just in, and lingering over the choice of a color or pattern. (Like many children in the 1960s and early 70s, I wore clothes my mother made for me. She sewed for herself as well.)

I will add this regarding the women who served as beauty and fashion role models. Admiration for “Liz” extended far beyond her looks and her style, as this wonderful writer recently pointed out far more eloquently than I can.

Choosing a Direction — Only One? Really?

Even in early adolescence, I had no idea which way I would go — words or pictures — and though I discarded the latter for a more “practical” use of the former, I do find it telling that by the time my sons were headed to college I was wandering my way into combining both. Those were tiring but deliciously satisfying years working a full-time day job in content writing and a nearly full-time second job, evenings and weekends, reviewing art.

I’ve also run across the occasional (embarrassing) polaroid of yours truly at a ballet recital — like many little girls, I was once convinced I could write poetry, design haute couture, and become a prima ballerina like Margot Fonteyn, and all by age 18.

Right. Hello, Reality.

Here’s the thing. I may not be what I once hoped to be — isn’t that true for most of us? — and I have been, undeniably, both “more” and less. But now, in semi-freedom (I do still have to make a living; retirement isn’t an option), I’m asking myself again, weirdly, what do I want to be when I grow up?

Second Chapters, Third Chapters, Mixing Things Up

I’m posing this question seriously, hoping to think outside the proverbial box, being more creative in combining activities and interests I care about, aware that I am responsible now only for myself, but equally aware that what I love most has remained steadfast through my entire life.

Words. Art. Design.

For relaxation, I read or write. Likewise, especially lately, I immerse myself in magazines that reflect the quirkiest and cleverest of beautiful interiors (oh, how I love the French aesthetic for impeccably imperfect interior design), a stunning mix of modern art with period antiques, or inspiring (motivational) fashions. I recognize all of these as art and artistry, as an escape, but also as pure love for what captivated me even as a child.

And then there is the nagging question. Again. What next?

I confess: I’m struggling to come up with answers. Or rather, answers other than a subset of the passions I’ve always held dear, those that deal with the written word and the visual arts. I say this even knowing that we are no longer constrained by being “just one thing” or pursuing a single way to earn our keep.

Passions, Passions Everywhere. Which Way to Turn and Do I Dare?

At an age and a stage when I am glancing back and looking ahead, I accept that I have lived a small life. But it has been a small life with some marvelous adventures, and far more joys than sorrows, for which I am grateful.

Hopefully, I am not done yet.

I’m curious. Have your passions changed over the years? Have they broadened or branched out in entirely new ways? Have you found yourself gravitating toward activities and people and places that perhaps, just perhaps, you could never allow yourself when you were young, and now, you can?

Do you find you have less freedom than you thought you would if you are now retired or living a version of empty nest? And if so, why? How might you change it?

On a side note, my very smart and lovely neighbor is a single woman. She is a bit younger than myself, and I’ve been urging her to “get out there” and date. She’s considering it.

We’ve been checking in with each other with regard to respective goals — mostly professional for her and health-and-wellness (weight, PT) for me — but among them is more socializing. Now there’s a topic potentially pertaining to passion! And, as a single woman over 50, to the issue of feeling that you’ve aged out of the dating market.

Should you persist in proactively trying to change your single status or at the very least, stay open? To what extent can this pursuit become a priority goal in a second or third chapter?

Naturally, I hope to learn from your experience (and my neighbor’s) as I look to steer myself and my life in a more fulfilling direction. Sure, I need to knock back a few “inconveniences” I’m dealing with, but assuming I can do that, then what?

I welcome your thoughts.

 
Image of hallway and Egg chair, Côté Paris, Fev-Mars 2013. Interior, Joan Mitchell painting hung over Ralph Pucci bench, Antiques & Fine Art Magazine AFAmag.com, Autumn 2018.

 

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