Someday
/"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I heard the middle school teacher ask the kid who was not even a teenager yet. "You're going to college, right?" This was said almost as a statement, a demand, rather than a question. In this poor urban middle school, college is pushed on these kids as the only way out of the poverty of their upbringing. If they fail to achieve the outcome that a career beyond college promises, they will just be another cautionary tale, another case of potential squandered by someone who may have just been unworthy in the first place. It strikes me that this approach, laced with undertones of fear, shame, and guilt, may be causing more harm than good. As these kids grow up, the weight of these heavy expectations may prove to be too much at times, a burden that they may seek to ease with drugs, alcohol, sex, or the only acceptable path: achievement. The problem is, for those that do make it, that survive the grueling marathon that is college and career, some struggle to let go of the burden of those expectations. What is left to do once you've achieved what you were told to do, when you have restrained from the excesses of your less successful peers, and now your resume and Facebook page sparkles with success? Something may be missing, something lost along the way, a journey so focused on the future that one has lost the ability to be present and enjoy the fruits of your hard won life. When you wake up wondering what the point of it all is, it is time to chart a new course. This time with the goal of being wide awake to the present moment, with an eye on the future, but your full self in the now. It is time to escape the blinding endgame focused tunnel vision that has thus defined your path. "So, any idea about what you want to do someday?" I asked the kid. "I don't know," he shrugged, "can we go play ball now?" I smiled grateful for this invitation to step back into the moment. The future can be a pretty daunting place to live, but right now in this moment, it's time to play ball.