Adulthood

I made a big decision last week.  It has launched me into so many conflicting emotions and fears and certainties and uncertainties, that I don’t even know how to write about it.  Not being able to write about it scares me, it means there is something amiss, that something is out of alignment.  But nevertheless, I will try.  Because in it there is always a light that comes back to me, an opening that helps me to see the things I cannot see, and the journey is hardly ever about knowing anything concretely.  We are all just trying to figure things out.

I came to the final realization that my continued pursuit of a degree and subsequent licensure in acupuncture and herbal medicine is not a sustainable path for me and my daughter under our current circumstances.  The hard truth is that I can spend the next two years investing a large amount of mental, emotional and financial energy into acquiring a license that will allow me to spend another couple of years pounding the pavement to start a practice or work my way up to a good paying job, which, if wildly successful, will just barely support me and my daughter as long as our cost of living does not go up.  It does not allow me to save for retirement.  It does not allow us to go on vacations.  It does not allow me to indulge her potential desires to pursue music lessons, or dance classes, or skiing, or summer camp.  And there is no room for error, or failure.  If I am not wildly successful, we will struggle.  This is why acupuncture is not the chosen profession for single parents with children under the age of two, in the Bay Area or otherwise.

I wasn’t necessarily surprised when I ran the numbers and came to this conclusion.  I was, in fact, surprised that it took me this long to do it.  I’m sure I knew in the back of my mind that the hard numbers wouldn’t work out, but I wanted to rely on faith and the idea that if I followed my heart, everything would work out.  I would pursue my dreams, one step at a time, and the universe would deliver to me everything I needed to succeed, including a new life partner and a father for Nova who would share in the responsibilities of this family.  In other words, somewhere in there, I believed that someone was going to come and save me.  But in these last few months I’ve experienced tremendous growth as a parent and as a widow, and I no longer desire to be saved.  I have full-heartedly accepted my role as a Nova's only parent, and rather than being afraid of it, I am appreciative of the opportunity to partner with my child, and to grow with her in a relationship that is uniquely ours.  

This is the gold.  It feels wonderful to embrace the life that has embraced me.  But it also means that I must save myself, and my daughter, and I need to put on all the household hats:  mama, dada, cook, cleaner, decision-maker, disciplinarian, playmate, and -- last but not least -- breadwinner.  It’s time for me to get a job.

Here’s the thing.  I can cry about it (which I do) and say that it feels like a part of me is dying (which it does), but from 2010-2014, I granted myself the freedom to do whatever I wanted to do.  I fell in love, I quit my job, I traveled extensively, I studied Chinese medicine, I got married, and I gave life to an amazing human.  During that time I led a life of abundance that many people never experience, and I made decisions that were impacted only by me.  I feel incredibly fortunate to have had that opportunity, and the basic reality is that things have changed.  The decisions I make are no longer so simple, and the structure of my life has fundamentally shifted.  I am, finally, at 38 years old, becoming an adult -- an adult who makes sacrifices for her family.  This is what we do when we have children.  My parents did it for me, their parents did it for them, and I must do it for Nova.  No other choice feels right.

Certainly, other voices rear their heads:
I’m not fighting for this because I don’t want it badly enough, and I’m disappointed that I don’t want it badly enough.
I’m running away because I’m scared.
I don’t believe in myself enough to know that I can make it work.
I am allowing fear, and money, to rule my life.

​I cannot dispute these claims.  They tear at my heart.  But this is where, perhaps, some element of fear is real, and healthy.  This is where we as parents want to do everything in our power to not fuck up.  We want to give our kids the world.  We want them to feel safe, and secure.  The opportunities I’ve had to shape and mold my life should also be Nova’s opportunities someday… and if I choose to make the right decisions for us, they will be.

This is Adulthood.