I don’t know about you, but I’ve always known how my life would turn out.
I knew what I wanted to be, and where I’d go to school, and who I’d marry (someday), and where I’d grow old. I knew who my friends would be, and how many kids I’d have, and that my parents would divorce, and that I’d move to Taiwan . . . I knew I’d have a serious rock-climbing accident, and that I’d survive. I knew I’d be “different,” and that that’d be okay.
I knew it all . . .
And I’ll bet you did, too. I’ll bet you’re an expert on everything that’s ever happened to you (or will) in your entire life.
Truth is, I’ve been struggling a lot lately. Nothing seems clear. I know what I want (to teach and write abroad), and yet I haven’t the foggiest how to get there. It seems there are obstacles at every step (including myself), and sacrifices that must be made, and that baby steps are all I’m currently capable of.
And yet . . . If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I wouldn’t — no, couldn’t — change who I am or the decisions I’ve made for anything — even if I were to repeat my life a hundred times. After all . . .
Taiwan chose me. Writing is who I am. Independent is my nature. Dreamer is my core.
Below is a poem I wrote this past Valentine’s Day. Somehow it seems appropriate now. This time I’ve included audio. (Yikes! . . . It’s not the best, though I tried like a million times . . .)
Dresses in white,
Flowers, the like.
Parties and favors,
Tokens to savor.
Girls and dreams,
Weddings and wishes,
Tickles and kisses.
Strange girl, strange dream,
Off on her own, alone in her stream.
She doesn’t want much,
No flowers and such.
Give her the land,
Give her her hand.
Let her write,
Let her fight.
Let her be,
Let her look,
Let her wait.
Let her, seeking, find her fate.
Could you change who you are? If so, how much?