Following Dreams

I just opened myself up for a memory I hadn’t thought about in a very long time.  Besides the sorrow I feel, I am actually tickled pink to have remembered it.

When my mother attended cosmetology school right after Daddy died and we moved back to Jackson from New York, she entered a hair show.  My oldest sister modeled for mama!  She was the perfect choice.  She is absolutely beautiful.  Her smile is vibrant and alluring.  As I’m writing this realize that she has my mother’s smile.

Mama won the hair show one year and placed second (I think) another year.  The year that I remember most was the second one when she won first place.  I was young and I can’t remember the theme of the hair show.  I do, however, remember Mama being nervous and that making me uncomfortable. 

She took a plain black dress slip and decorated it sporadically with autumn leaves.  I remember thinking this wasn’t enough.  There were others there with these really elaborate creations.  But I encouraged my mother and remember feeling extremely proud of her.  Participation in the hair show was not a must.  She did it because she wanted to.  The Mama I’d known up to that point was a sideliner to my father’s show.  She’d never displayed any desire to gain any attention for anything all my life – up to that point.  I felt weird.  Mostly, I was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t win.  Would she be hurt?  How would I deal with my mother having hurt feelings?  I wasn’t use to that concept at all.

While she won that hair show, I walked away a total winner as well.

I believe that up to that point, I didn’t know who my mother was – aside from being my mother and my daddy’s wife.  I didn’t know her personally.  I didn’t know her hopes and dreams.  I knew she supported my father’s dreams, but I didn’t know if she even had any that belonged to her.  I had heard about how she had such a beautiful voice and loved singing.  I’d even heard tales about how athletic she was.  But the only thing I’d seen her be really good at was being my mother.  She sang a bit around the house, but nothing that would make me think she had any interest in singing for real.

I learned that day that dreams are often easily transferred.  If we don’t protect our dreams and clearly define them as our own, they tend to get frustrated with us and transfer to others who are more demanding and in control of their dreams.  I believe that’s what happened with my mother.  My father’s energy and passion for his dreams outweighed hers.  Instead of fighting for her dreams, she allowed them to embrace my dad and she became a witness to his story, instead of a main character in hers.  The good thing about that is that it turned out that she’d be offered a second chance to go after her dreams later in life.  Her sacrifice was meant to be as she only gave up a decade or so to allow my dad to swim around in his purpose. 

It took an amazing amount of belief in my father to do that.  But, it also took an extreme amount of virtue for my mother to be that self-less. 

I’ve battled with that same struggle because I’m nowhere near as self-less as my mother had been.  I didn’t make a conscious decision to give up on my dream so that I can witness my husband’s purpose.  I just fell head first into this manufactured relief that now I don’t have to pursue my dreams.  If I just support my husband, any amount of failure will be his, not mine.  So, I’m all in.  Let’s do it.  The problem with that mentality, though, is that I wasn’t born to be a witness to his story.  I have a purpose.  I’ve known that most of my life.  I have just tried to ignore it due to fear of rejection and failure. 

The day that this memory showed up in my consciousness, I immediately recognized myself in the story.  The same fear and uncertainty I felt when my mother presented her model at the hair show has kept me company all my life.  It has actually dictated most of my professional decisions.  I’ve been safe.  I’ve been stuck in fear of success as well as failure.  But the look in my mother’s eyes when they called her name as the winner still pierces my soul.  When she won the hair show I accepted my first glimpse into a woman taking back her dream, her story.  While it took me a couple of years to process that – like twenty - I have gotten it.

There are no guarantees in life.  There is nothing one can decide to do that is automatically going to equal success.  As a matter of fact, success can only be measured by that particular individual, so the fear doesn’t have a solid foundation to begin with.  I have nothing to fear, but fear.  I refuse to be a hostage to fear any longer.  It’s a horrible existence to live through another person’s purpose while ignoring your own.  We all have our own purpose on this earth.  While some people never know what their purpose is, I’d challenge any one reading this to figure out what your purpose is.  If you know what it is, waste not another moment talking yourself out of living in that purpose.  It belongs to you and it is necessary for some reason. You’ll never know the reason if you never step into it.  We’re only here, on this earth, for a short time; make it worth your while.  Make your purpose count. 

My mother did that at the hair show.  It wasn’t about her creating a masterpiece and stealing the show.  It was a lesson, for your youngest daughter (who happened to not get it until much later).  That night she taught me that you are never too old to win.  It’s never too late to try.  Dreams never die; they may transfer, but they belong to you and will be there when you are ready to receive them.  I am ready to receive and achieve my dreams.  Thanks, Mama!