Her

Perhaps one of the nicest things about being young and idealistic is because whether you are right or wrong, you feel that your opinions, your goals and your feelings matter. Maybe they don't matter to the person next to you, or to someone across the world, but to you they matter.

Once I felt like I was a goddess, not in terms of beauty or wealth, but in that I held in my hand the possibilities of a thousand lifetimes. I was a young, attractive and smart women in the time of the new millenium, the years that no one and nothing could or should have held me back. There was no glass ceiling placed above my head, no strings to pull at my heart. I was free, free to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, do what I wanted, with whom I wanted. It was all about me, and my wishes, dreams, desires. And I knew. Barely out of high school I had dreams of ruling the world, making my name known, taking my place as leader of people...

Today I don't know where that precious girl has gone. She disappeared, quickly, in the last few years. Sometimes, in the mornings, when the rest of the house is asleep, I wake up with a start, sitting up and gasping, as if she is trying to save herself from drowning in the life I have put her in, desperately clawing to get out, to make her mark, to DO something. You see, she doesn't feel like I have done anything in our life. She feels that without a college degree, without being a "power" worker, and staying stuck in this place, we are a worthless individual. We have talent, we have intelligence, but no one values me because to them I am just a mother. I work over forty hours a week in a nice paying, normal secretarial job. She thinks she should be working 80 hours a week bringing money in hand-over-fist. I take and pick my children up from school, she thinks she wouldn't have wanted children. I envision my perfect marriage, with a perfect husband and my two adorable daughters. She envisions Armani suits, 4-inch heels, and a blackberry permattached to her ear.
It's not that I begrudge her. Sometimes I wish I could rewind time and focus on where our paths diverged. Half the time I want to be her, half the time I'm thankful I am not her.