Letting go

We all have dreams, for ourselves, our children, our families, our country, our world. And I'm sure everyone has found that as we age, we have to let some dreams go, especially our own particular, maybe particularly wild, dreams. No, I'm never going to climb Mt. Everest (so commercial, you know? And then there's that "I'm scared sh**less of heights" thing). No, I'm not going to be the youngest whatever to do anything. No, I won't be the first woman to do anything, the first mother, the first 30-something. I had a shot at "First Middle-aged Woman with a Lot of Children and no Experience Selected as VP Running Mate," but now even that's out of my reach.

I've never let go of any dreams yet for my children. They're too young. There's too much open road. But for myself? I get to look back on 40 years and to take a clear-eyed look at the present, and I see some things that have fallen to the wayside and others that I must let go.

My most recent release, and, I think, my most painful, has been, "I'm not ever going to earn an MD." Waaah, right? DMFP, pity party, table for one, right? But I've always thought I would, someday. Our city--with, I might add, a flagship state university with 50,000 students--is soon (finally) going to have a medical school. When I heard about that, I thought, "I'm going." Finally, I thought, it's going to all come together in time and space for me. I've even got MDs volunteering to do my recs for me.

That was before I had to face the reality that what once was a steel-trap mind has turned into something more like a stainless steel sieve. Not a great qualification for beginning a career that requires an enormous amount of mental preparedness and capacity. My mental filing cabinets are filled to overflowing, and I just don't think I've got space in there for identifying all of the nerves in the wrist, much less the entire body. I can't remember I've got a gallon of milk in the car--well, I can, but six hours too late. I repeat conversations with people because I can't remember that I've already had the conversation with them. There's no way I'm going to be able to remember what is required for earning the MD, or even for finishing the first year.

And I'm tired. I don't have the stamina. I took a solid look at it all last week, and while I know I'd do very well on the MCAT--sorry, but I teach the people who take that test--I'm not into tests anymore. I remember clearly when I took my last test in graduate school, and I was really really happy to close the book on that chapter of my life. And the MD is nothing but test after exam after test, incredibly intense, fact-filled, difficult tests. I'm just not there. I've traveled too far away to go back to that now. My memory honestly doesn't have what it takes any longer.

What it comes down to is, it's not only my mind that ain't what it used to be. My age isn't what it used to be. I tried to imagine myself surrounded by people literally about half my age, perky, bright, smart, active, energetic, young people. They'd probably mistake me at this point for the professor I am, or maybe a nurse, rather than as one of their peers. The very thought of all that energy exploding all around me exhausts me. They'll feel competitive and competent. I'll feel like someone needs to hook me up to a caffeine IV.

It was really something I wanted to do, something I've dreamed about, something I know I'd've done well. Something I missed out on doing because of the twisty, crooked path I forged for my life. My path, my doing. And now, it's something I've got to let go. So, I did. So, I have. It ain't gonna happen. Eh, I probably wouldn't like it anyway, right?

That doesn't mean, however, that in about four years, you won't be hearing about my suddenly stepping into the limelight of the national political arena, after I've hired about six nannies to rear my children for me.