When you get sick you come to terms with letting a lot of things go.
The wonderful things that before gave you a sense of purpose and excitement. The magical things that allowed you to look into your future and see possibilities so real you could reach out and touch them.
I had big plans.
I wanted to be a surgeon. I was going to fall in love with a handsome, charismatic and adventurous someone. I was going to have three children, and have my first by the age of 33. I was going to see the world a dozen times over. I would see my name in lights. And somehow I was going to make a difference.
For me, all it took was a handful of fateful words from my doctor to change everything.
I bought into the idea that my future was snatched away from me.
I was wrong.
I look at it differently now. I think of it as a revision of my dreams. I haven’t lost them completely. I haven’t given up on all I was wishing for. Now I just have to go about it differently.
I will be a writer, and my measure of success will not be determined by the number of people who love what I do. Instead it will be measured by how it makes me grow as a person. If I touch even one individual out there, it will be all the more special.
I did fall in love with a handsome, charismatic and adventurous someone. He is also loving, selfless and supportive.
I have had a chance to see some of the world. And I found one child at the shelter when I was 36 and the other at the local park when I was 37.
And I still have the chance to make a difference.
So it didn’t go down exactly the way I planned it. That would be too easy, really. And easy doesn’t give you the chance to grow and see what you’re made of.
As long as there is breath in me
I will never stop dreaming.
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