2. Dream Medium. Or Small. Or Weird. Or

In college, I had an orgmate who could read palms. 

While I'm 50% certain it was his way to hold people's hands on the sly, I was curious and asked him to read mine. My fortune? Growing up to make "just a little bit more than enough" money to be comfortable.

Excuse me.

College Mikli was aghast. 

What do you mean, live an average life? Ambition should be made of sterner stuff!

Growing up, the only way to dream was big.

Everyone had dreams for me. I had dreams for me. I had competitive dreams for me.

Our national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, was a doctor, writer, sculptor, activist, polymath, pain in the ass. And I, as cocky 7-year-old went, is that all? 

When we siblings would ask our mom what she wanted us to be when we grew up, she'd say, "Successful." I had no doubt I would be.

I took a full sheet of paper and filled it with as many careers as I could think of, back and front. CEO. Pilot. Architect. Musician. Policeman. Dancer. Dentist. Chef. Teacher. Photographer. President.

I was urged to take business in college. When I got pregnant, everyone told me to go to law school. When I quit law school, everyone told me to go back to law school. When I so much as thought about getting a PhD, they said please.

Earn all the money. Hustle all the things. Hate your job. Love your salary. 

Are the only valid dreams big ones?

That's the only adjective it ever comes with, right? Dream big. 

Be all you can be. Make an impact. Make a difference where you can. Change the world. You were made for bigger things. You can do so much more.

Thank you, I appreciate how much you believe in me. Thanks for seeing so much potential in me. 

But if I'm being honest...

... and I ask myself about the kind of life it is that I want, or how I'd like the ordinary Thursdays that make up my every day to look, then:

I just want to have a miniature horse as a pet and have it roam around the house like a puppy. (I've been thinking about this for so long I can't tell if I'm still joking.)

I want to be a housewife -- whether or not I'm a wife -- and still be earning my own money.

And I'd like to be earning that money by doing something I'm good at, that excites me, that helps people, and maybe even makes them laugh.

I want to fulfill my soccer mom dreams of driving my kid to and from school (okay, maybe just the from; I can't wake up before 6am) every day and having the house to myself in between.

I want to do workshops with kids where we get to talk about sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Guys, confession, my secret dream forreal is to learn stand up comedy and give talks in schools like that and then I'll be the cool parent

I want to do workshops with parents that will help them talk to their kids about sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Do I want to write a book again?

I want a little place just big enough to fit my family, my five cats, maybe plus one dog, and have family nights on the family couch eating a family-sized bowl of popcorn. 

I want to be able to wear sleeveless shirts, with... not even confidence. With indifference.

I want to afford to feed and house and clothe and educate my family well. Maybe I want to go on vacation every once in a while. Have enough for when someone gets sick. Have enough for a bit of play. Not have to worry about where the next rent payment is coming from.

And I don't necessarily have to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company before I'm 30 -- because otherwise it wouldn't count and I'd bring dishonor to us all -- to do all of that.

What if I never change the world?

Does that make me any less ambitious? I don't think so.

I still do have ambitions. They are just no longer The Most.

I can want these things. I can dream small. Or medium. Or pony.

And that's okay.

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