Now what?

"Life ain't always beautiful."  That's a lyric from a song I love.  It's a lyric that describes this particular season of my life.  I'm having an identity crisis of sorts.  I just don't know where I fit into this world of ours and what my role is, anymore.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a doctor.  I was a smart kid.  I was confident that I could be a doctor if I wanted to be one.  I didn't want to be a nurse.  I have the utmost respect for nurses, but I'm just not one.  I don't possess the skills necessary for that job.  Being a surgeon suited me more.  I still love to watch medical procedures.  I won't lie.  There are a couple of things that gross me out.  Seeing badly broken bones that twist limbs into unnatural positions creeps me out.  Also, dealing with eyeballs would not be my cup of tea.  Other than those two areas, I'm not affected too much by blood and gore.

Somewhere around high school, my focus shifted, though.  I, like most girls at the time, began my search for the guy I would spend my life with.  Along with that shift, came a longing to be a wife and mother.  My desire to be a rich, successful doctor dissipated.  A mom.  That's what I wanted to be.  Kids had always loved me, and I loved them.  It just felt like the natural choice for me.  Any plans to make a life centered around me and a profession were abandoned.

I had my first son when I was twenty-one.  He truly was the perfect baby.  Sure.  I remember sleepless nights and a lot of overwhelming moments, but we really couldn't have asked for a better baby.  He was rarely fussy.  He could sleep anywhere you put him.  He was just pleasant.  He grew into the most adorable toddler, and we were inseparable.  We spent our days watching Barney, reading books, going shopping, and just having fun.  He would always tell me that he loved me and I was the best mommy in the world.  Fulfilled?  Yes, I was.  When it came time for him to start Kindergarten, I was all alone.  The 9/11 attacks happened that fall, and I was left wondering if having only one child was the right choice.  You would think a terrible thing like that would make you rethink bringing children into this crazy world, but it had the opposite affect on me.  It made me feel like our family was incomplete.  My second son was born nine months later.  Not to sound mean, but he was not the perfect baby.  He cried and cried and cried some more.  Four months I slept upright in a recliner with him on my chest.  It was the only way he would sleep.  I nearly lost my mind.  Then, just like a switch had been flipped, he stopped.  He's been a joy ever since.  He's the total opposite of his brother but still such a good kid.  In the blink of an eye, they're growing up, and you find yourself running from one activity to another.  The motherhood role is now about logistics.  Get from point A to point B on time.  Feed them.  Clothe them.  Send them to school.  Pick them up.  Go here.  Go there.  It's exhausting but rewarding in its own way.  They're happy.  They're well-behaved.  You're succeeding.  You're still the most important girl in their lives.  They depend on you.

Then, one day, one leaves.  You've done your job.  No more activities to juggle.  No more meals to prepare.  No more shopping for clothes.  No more worrying about how their hair looks or if they washed behind their ears.  Now, there's a new girl in their life whose opinion is the only one that matters.  They aren't "yours," anymore.  And every argument and harsh word you ever spoke to them haunts you.  Did I do enough?  I should have done differently.  I should have made more happy memories while I could.  It's too late.  You know it's the natural progression of life.  You know there will be new happiness in their adult accomplishments.  Still, it hurts, and you mourn for the chance to go back and do things over.

Now, my days are spent alone.  It's too late to become that doctor now.  I feel like I should find a job, but I still have one teenager at home, and I'm not about to miss any of his activities.  I guess I'll try to be a secretary or something like that with a daytime schedule.  The only problem is I'm forty years old and have no recent work experience of any kind.  I try for a couple of positions, thinking I can convince them that I'm still smart enough to do the job.  It doesn't work.  So, now what?  Now what?  That is the question of my life.  When facing a crisis like this, every past and present failure rushes to the forefront of your mind.  You question every choice you've ever made.  It's a lonely place to be, alone with your thoughts.

I hate politics, but...

Here's a confession.  I've never really cared about politics.  I've been living in denial of the fact that I'm an adult and should care about the people chosen to lead our country and make decisions for us.  This particular season in politics has piqued my interest, though.  Donald Trump.  Need I say more?  Well, I'm going to say more, anyway.

When I first heard that "The Donald" was running for president, I am quite certain that I rolled my eyes.  I've never been a fan.  I've always thought he was a narcissistic blow hard.  I thought he must be out of his mind to even suggest that the American public would give him a moment's consideration as a serious contender.  Then, he started talking.  Lots and lots of talking.  And, while I may not have agreed with everything he had to say, I liked the way he said it.

Have you ever heard the saying, "Hurt me with the truth, but NEVER comfort me with a lie?"  I think that's what is going on with Mr. Trump.  People are so sick and tired of politicians that tip-toe around speaking their true feelings for fear of offending someone.  We would rather know what kind of snake we're handling than to be surprised when we get bitten later. I, for one, respect a person who speaks their mind unapologetically.  At least, then, I can make an informed decision as to whether I want to support you or not.  So, yes.  I've gained a new respect for Donald Trump.

I find it particularly entertaining to watch the liberal media having to admit that Donald Trump's bid for the candidacy is not just a joke.  Every "journalist" I've seen talking about him on TV talks with clear disdain for the man.  He has been endlessly mocked by not only comedians but also "real" newscasters.  They've had to actually acknowledge that there is a considerable percentage of the American people that support him, despite his brash attitude.  I happen to enjoy seeing the left-wing biased pundits knocked off of their high horses, even if just for a moment.  You see, I long for the days when the news media simply delivered the news.  I wish I could turn on the TV and see a journalist talk about the issues facing our country without feeling the undercurrent of an agenda being pushed onto the public.  Anyone who is willing to stand up to their mind games and call them out publicly garners a bit more respect from me.

As I step down from today's soapbox, I just want to say that I'm not waving any banners from the Donald Trump corner just yet.  I do, however, give the man credit for telling it like it is without fear of retribution.  Now, if we could only convince the rest of the candidates to be so transparent, we might have a political race worth watching.