I recently stumbled upon a notion that the majority of our lives are lived in the first two decades, with the remaining years spent merely processing those experiences. Whether this is the most disheartening thought I’ve encountered or a huge relief is still unclear to me, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a load of nonsense. However, it did make me reflect on a pivotal moment in my thirties, where life shifts from planning, striving, and dreaming to simply existing in the present.
Perhaps things didn’t unfold as I imagined. It’s a tough realization to confront. I genuinely believe that the way my life is now — unfolding as it is — is precisely how it was meant to be. However, it doesn’t align with the dreams I had as a child when my mother gifted me a copy of the Constitution. I remember reading it cover to cover while sitting on the toilet, thrilled to discover that nothing in there barred me from being president just because I was a girl. I dashed out to share my discovery, forgetting to even pull up my pants.
Fast forward many years, and the choices I made — like marrying young, starting a family, and pursuing motherhood — have reshaped my journey in ways I couldn’t foresee. The dreams I once held, inspired by my mother’s well-worn copies of Ms. magazine, have gradually slipped away, and I hardly noticed it happening. I’ve come to accept that I will no longer be a professional dancer or a surgeon; the prospect of becoming a homebirth midwife is also off the table.
And it goes beyond career aspirations. I don’t even know how to garden, and animals seem to have an aversion to me. Cooking authentic Mexican food has been on my to-do list for a decade, yet my attempts have devolved into simply melting cheese and exclaiming “olé.” It’s quite pathetic, really.
Nonetheless, I have achieved significant milestones: graduating high school and college, having children, committing to marriage, and purchasing a home. I have a career that I enjoy and a hobby that brings me even more joy. The hard work of reaching my goals is mostly behind me, and I’m (mostly) ready to embrace the work of enjoying what I have.
You would think this part would be easier, but it’s not, at least not in the ways I expected. Who would have guessed that settling into our choices could be more challenging than the striving? The anticipation of what lay ahead was often fraught with excitement; this phase, however, is just… well, it is what it is. Perhaps the forward-looking gaze has shifted to an inward reflection, revealing that despite the joy and chaos filling our days, a longing persists.
So yes, I’ll admit it. I had dreams that were grander than this, dreams that didn’t involve being buried in laundry while dealing with the realities of motherhood, a sagging tummy, and the inevitable wrinkles creeping in. In many ways, I feel I traded those dreams for something that was undeniably a better deal, one I wouldn’t hesitate to make again if given the chance.
I’m not complaining — not at all. I just find it unfair that we perpetuate the myth that we can have it all. It’s simply not true. While we can attain beautiful, fulfilling experiences, we can’t have everything. If you’re exceptionally fortunate, like I am, perhaps you’ll have a mother-in-law who embodies grace and helps you juggle your career and family. But even then, I find it difficult to be fully present. At work, a part of me remains with my children, and at home, I’m often distracted by my smartphone, missing out on precious moments.
We often divide ourselves into tiny fragments, scattering our attention like fairy dust across different areas of our lives, hoping it will be enough to keep everyone satisfied — including ourselves.
But is it? I think it is, actually. I truly believe it has to be. I also think it’s perfectly acceptable to mourn the loss of some of those earlier dreams. Life with young children can be a tightrope act. We choose what we can handle and strive to accept what we cannot, exerting ourselves to maintain balance. The reality is that this process is neither easy nor glamorous.
As much as I wish to emulate trailblazers like Gloria Steinem, I’m just a weary mother of four, caught in the middle of it all, still pondering what it would have been like to wear a white lab coat as a doctor.
But here’s the most important takeaway: this journey isn’t over. In a bittersweet yet exhilarating twist, these little ones won’t remain little forever. They will grow, and so will we, and life is full of unexpected turns. We should never stop dreaming, not even for a moment. To the person who told me we only truly live for 20 years — I have plenty more living to do.
While my aspirations may have evolved, they haven’t disappeared. Being president is far from my radar now. Today, I dream of achieving enlightenment or mastering that elusive arm balance in yoga. Yesterday, my ambition was simply getting out of bed. This weekend, I longed to enjoy a movie with my husband without interruptions.
Tomorrow, who knows? I might finally learn how to make tamales, or perhaps I’ll save the world, depending on how much coffee I manage to consume. Ultimately, the specifics of our dreams may be less significant than the fact that we continue to dream — they serve as our safety net when the demands of daily life feel overwhelming. None of us can predict where our paths will lead, but I, for one, am eager to discover where mine takes me.
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Summary
The journey through motherhood and adulthood may not always align with childhood dreams, but embracing the unexpected turns of life is essential. It’s okay to mourn lost aspirations while also cherishing the beautiful moments we create along the way. As we continue to grow and evolve, we must keep dreaming, finding joy in the everyday chaos.