I never, ever wanted to be a teacher -- "I'm never going to teach," I told my family. I also refused to take typing in high school because (as I stated in my snotty way), "Forget it, I'm never going to make my living at a typewriter."
Ha, ha, ha on me. What do I do for vocation and avocation? I write, and I teach.
Other statements I've asserted loudly at various points in my life:
- "I'll never be one of those spiritual seekers; that's not in my personality."
Tell it to my husband, a bemused witness to my evolving quest.
- "I'll never write short stories; I'm a novelist."
Sure. That's why I've had so many published in lit journals.
- "I'll never be Middle Class, and I'll never be able to own a house."
I am, and I do.
- "I'll never vote Republican."
Okay, this one is still (proudly) true.
Obviously, "Never say Never" should be tattooed on my ass.
These days I'm feeling a lot of "never." I find it so easy to limit myself.
This morning I walked in the redwoods in a thick ongoing dread and dismay about the world and the election. Up on Big Trees Trail, sun shafted through the redwoods and fog, and the dogs romped. I felt myself expand out of worry. "I can hold this all -- the beauty and feel of my body pumping up the hill and the sadness and worry -- I can hold it all, the whole universe."
The rest of today was hard, but the sunlight through the trees and the sense of possibilities stayed with me. The redwoods, the sun, the dogs -- at least for now -- kicked the "never" out of me.