When I was a child, I envisioned myself as a jockey. Like many 8-year-olds, I was captivated by horses—I read about them, drew them, and even created stories featuring them. My all-time favorite book was Black Beauty, and I watched The Black Stallion on repeat, fantasizing about being Alec, the boy stranded with a magnificent racehorse. I even fabricated a tale for my fourth-grade pen pal, claiming I owned a horse in my backyard (sorry, “Sarah from Colorado,” but that was a tall tale).
The only time I actually rode a horse was during a Disneyland trip when I was in third grade. That brief pony ride was one of the most exhilarating moments of my childhood. However, my allergies to horses made it clear that maybe I should reconsider my dreams.
I decided to follow my mother’s advice, steering instead towards writing, which I excelled at. I spent countless nights in my bunk bed crafting stories, drawing illustrations, and creating whimsical characters. Admittedly, many of my tales included the word “fart” and often featured a protagonist escaping on her horse, but my imagination was always alive.
I thrived in school, relishing essay writing and filling diaries with my thoughts. I devoured every Beverly Cleary book I could find and cherished my collection of Anne of Green Gables. I eagerly took every writing course available in college and even landed an internship at a newspaper. My dreams of becoming a writer in a bustling city fueled my ambition.
However, as life would have it, dreams can often slip away. Just before graduating from college, I purchased a one-way ticket to Seattle, determined to find my place in that vibrant city. I received a rejection letter from Starbucks’ CEO Howard Schultz after requesting an interview for a position on his PR team. “He’ll regret it,” I told myself confidently. “Something better is bound to come along.”
But then, I met a charming guy named Mark from Kentucky, who had a job offer in New Jersey. I was skeptical about maintaining a long-distance relationship, and with less than $100 in my bank account, I chose to stay in the Midwest. I took a small newspaper job, and soon after, Mark and I got married and settled into a cozy farmhouse in the Bluegrass State. Two decades, four kids, and one profound loss later, I still reflect on that long-lost dream.
Recently, I unearthed that plane ticket from a box of keepsakes, a stark reminder of the decisions that shape our lives. Had I boarded that flight, I might have secured a fulfilling job, met someone special, and led an entirely different life. I imagine strolling through Pike Place Market with my kids, learning to ski, and working in a skyscraper overlooking the Space Needle.
Yet, there’s a bittersweet quality to these musings. Without taking that path, I wouldn’t have experienced the love story with Mark, who has cherished me through ups and downs (except for that time I mislaid the car on Valentine’s Day—he wasn’t thrilled). I wouldn’t have shared the unforgettable night in August 2014, where I was humorously kicked out of a bar for my dance moves, or cherished the joy and chaos brought by my four children, who wake me with silly jokes at dawn.
Life in Kentucky taught me countless lessons—like how to drive a tractor, fish, and even shoot a bull’s-eye from 100 yards away. I forged deep friendships that enrich my life, gathering with them for monthly martinis after the kids are asleep. Imagining a life devoid of these connections is unfathomable.
While I sometimes ponder the “what ifs,” I now accept that dreams can fade. Relocating my family from the familiarity of Kentucky to a bustling city would be nearly as improbable as Channing Tatum appearing at my door to whisk me away to Hollywood (but hey, a girl can still dream, right?).
Over the past decade, I’ve come to terms with my choices. Though I may not reside in a high-rise or write about celebrities, my role as a mother is invaluable. I read to my children, share their stories, and support their happiness by driving them to swim lessons and gymnastics. I watch my twins take horseback riding lessons from a distance, jotting down funny anecdotes for them to read someday. The reward may not come in the form of accolades but rather in the smiles of my children, who will grow into compassionate adults.
My son dreams of becoming a football player, aspiring to be the next Tom Brady or Peyton Manning. I encourage him to work hard, even as I know the odds. However, it’s my duty to instill in him the belief that he can achieve his dreams. I hope one day he can buy me a penthouse in New York City, where I can write stories about a little girl and her horse.
For those considering starting a family, exploring options like at-home insemination can be enlightening. Check out resources like Make a Mom and their BabyMaker kit, which provide valuable information. Also, for a deeper understanding of the fertility process, Wikipedia offers an excellent overview of in vitro fertilisation.
In summary, while I may have let go of my childhood dreams, I embrace the life I’ve built, filled with love, laughter, and countless memories that far exceed any fantasy I once held.
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