Gingerale
I havent told him yet. I havent told him that I’m not going to go. I havent told him because I dont know how. I havent told him because I’m afraid of what he’ll say. Even more afraid of what he won’t say. I want him to be proud of me. I want him to say “I love you just the same”. I want to tell him that I’m excited, but I’m scared and his support would mean everything. But I dont know how.
Before I left on my trip I applied for broadcasting. A sensible choice. A safe choice. I was hoping I wouldnt get in. I was hoping the universe would decide for me. I was accepted and I convinced myself I should go. I told myself I was making a smart decision. Doing the right thing. I paid my registration fee while I was away. I was to register for classes April 15th. 3 months later I still hadnt signed up. He asked me about it. I made up some excuse. I asked myself about it. Excused myself too.
Two weeks ago, for my job at Lululemon, we had a goal coaching workshop. We were to write down our goals on a sheet we’d been given. Days passed and mine remained blank. I would look at the empty page and feel the tears straining behind my eyes. My throat close up. My mind go numb. I could not right them down. I knew if I wrote them I would find myself out and then I would have to face the hard and scary truth. But I had to do as I was told. So I started with health goals. Pretty easy. Then personal goals-get my liscence, own a home, have kids. Simple too. The surrounding sections filled up, but the space for career goals remained as empty as I felt. I though about what I could write regarding broadcasting. I had no clue. This was all getting to close to the truth. I wanted to run. I wanted to start back paddling so far away from it it would never catch up. The coach caught me. One question. “What is it you are most afraid to do, but that you have always wanted?” I could feel the word coming up fast. Like trying to put the lid back on a bottle of fizzing pop before it explodes, I couldnt stop it. “Act”. For one moment the noises inside me silenced, and in that quiet moment, I knew. I knew that as much as I want to have a pretty little life with no surprises, my dreams are like gingerale, just itching to spill out all over.
So Dad, I’m not going back to college. I’m headed in the direction of my dreams. I hope you’ll join me, but if you can’t, or you wont, I love me just the same.
