What do you want to be when you grow up?

I have always despised that question. Jealous of the kids who had a canned answer just waiting to be brought out. The future firefighters and nurses and cops.

I never wanted to be a "something". I wanted to love fiercely, to be indescribably cherished, to experience all the unknowns in life with faith, hope and loved ones at my side. I yearned for a set path that told me how. There is no career guide for love, or for living a full life. We are told that to be happy, we need to have a plan.

I am forced to enter, for the second time in my life, "unemployed" as my occupation. This time around it's tempting to enter "housewife" as my answer. Housewife is an acceptable role in society. That word means it is a conscious choice to be in the situation that I am in, rather than something which is forced upon me and in which I fail to change.

I don't want to miss the sunrises. The off-hour drives on the interstate across a landscape which is undeniably my soul's home. I want to experience the seasons. The bitter cold of winter outside my window as I type sitting in a cozy spot with a mug of coffee at hand. The harsh changes spring brings as the air warms but the earth struggles to release it's cold, frozen grip on the soil. I want to nurture small sprouts of spinach, peas and carrots as they seek the weak light of early spring. Tiny seeds that hold the secret promise of warm afternoons spent harvesting and tending the garden's voluptuous needs and rewards before the chill of fall trumpets winter's steady advance. Planning not for the week's meals, but the next season, the next year, the next decade of nourishment and life.

Packing my things every day to go to work for someone else's benefit is too slow yet too fast. The years creep by and when I come up for air, I'm suddenly much older without life's goals showing much progress. Yet it seems there is another major event always looming on the horizon. Or, at the opposite end, nothing to do but to plod along until the next thing hits. Life is spent doing what's expected instead of living as my core screams it needs to do.

If I could go back and talk to the young me, I'd tell her that it's ok to simply "be". Be confident. Be patient. Be loving and kind. Be fierce. Be steady. Be spastic. Be scared and courageous at the same moment. Be leery of those who are new, until they prove that when you fall with them, you can fall without restraint.

Being unemployed is an odd gig for me. I am a worker bee. I like to put my head down and work hard within set boundaries. To have a problem and know that it could be fixed. Or to know that some things just are and that's how it is. Without a boss man nor a company schedule to keep, I have to learn to do those things for myself. What are my long-term goals? What are the immediate needs of myself and my household? Do I need to say "no" when it seems that I should say yes? I have to learn to let go and trust my household. To communicate and prioritize things that were previously ignored. I have to learn to listen to the old me, and the new me. What is unchanging and what, in the end, doesn't have to be? What little things matter to ensure that the big dreams come true? When I frame my window, is it looking out where I want to go?

Until I learn all of life's answers, I'll relish the knowledge that going in circles is my happy place. The seasons and the scenarios change, but the underlying landscape is the same. Skate fast, turn left, and skate like a jammer until body and soul are one once again.