Evolution of A Childish Aspiration

When I was just a little girl, I wanted to grow up to become a chemist. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I knew I liked mixing things together to see what happened. So, I told everyone that I was going to go to Stanford, and one day I would impress the world with my chemical skills.

Later on, I adjusted my dream. I began to participate in community theater. I pranced about a poorly ventilated room, in a stifling cowardly lion costume in the middle of a heat wave, and told myself that one day I was going to be discovered. Filling various background and secondary character roles, I made believe that I was astonishingly important. I told myself that someday, someone incredible was going to see me and know that I was destined for the world stage.

In my adolescence, I began to sing. I was in choirs, and the occasional musical. Every so often I'd have a brief solo, but nothing momentous. Mostly, I just stood in the front row (for height reasons  ̶  don't get excited), and blended the discordant voices. Nevertheless, I had my dreams. In my world, a famous relative of a classmate would pick my voice out from the chorus, and ask me to sing with them. That, or an unknown music executive would hear my latest Car-eoke session (it's a thing), and think "give that girl a record deal." After all, I am a rock star behind the steering wheel.

Now I'm an adult, and I'm pursuing a grown-up career. I've moved beyond my childish dreams of fame resulting out of mediocrity. Instead, I'm electing to make an impact on a smaller, less appreciated, scale. Meanwhile, I'm going home to my computer, and writing about my experiences. I post my thoughts, and interpretations to a blog, and link it to the social media world in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will notice and appreciate my skill.

But, that's different.