When I was a kid, I never had a fantasy of what I wanted to be when I grew up - no astronaut, writer, teacher or doctor. I was thinking about this today when I was playing with my daughter and while she is not yet five, I hope that she will have dreams of her future of some kind, other than just hoping to get there. This brought another thought to mind.
I have dreams for my daughter.
It is not that I have anything specific in mind for her and I do not care what she actually chooses to do - but I hope that her life is one that she loves, one with which she will be able to find contentment.
It is funny, I am not sure what my parents thought about this for me or whether they spent much time thinking about it at all. I don't know what they thought I might turn into one day, or if they considered I would amount to much. Perhaps part of the reason is that I got ill so young and life ahead wasn't looking so positive and they didn't want to discuss the future too much, or perhaps it is just that they had other things to spend their time on.
Does it matter what a parent thinks?
Or does it matter what a child thinks a parent thinks of them?
I would like my daughter to be free of me, not tied or reliant on what she holds about me - be able to stand on her own feet, take responsibility for herself and not be so affected by her upbringing and the mistakes I made, that it holds her back from fulfilling her potential. It is likely too much to ask - we are human, we are products of our environments, we struggle to break what we have learned and especially what we believe about ourselves - for better or worse.
I will have to live with my failures.
I haven't changed since I was a child - I still do not know what I will be when I grow up, nor do I have any fanciful dreams of what I think I want to be. I am still in that same life of a child - looking forward, hoping to get there, somewhere, anywhere.
Yet daily, I want more for my daughter, I want her to discover herself and her best, do better than she thinks she can, in order to prove herself continually wrong, discovering that there is always more inside her more room to grow, more energy in reserve.
We are all limited. Where are our borders?
Everyday we are bound by the line between what we did and what we could have done, but can never know whether we did our best, or held ourselves back. Whether there more inside us, more to consume, more to expend?
This leaves us to continually have the question as to what we are and whether we became what we are meant to be. What else could we have been in another life, another time, another set of conditions or after having made a few different decisions along our journey.
The incessant chatter of the unknowable us.
Will my daughter find the quiet within her, the space in her world to discover herself in the darkness of her mind, the place where her fears live and she wants to succumb, hide, believe in the limits they impose?
I hope so.
Taraz
[ Gen1: Hive ]