by Eliana:
You know that poem by Langston Hughes? Even if you don't do poetry, you've at least heard of the drama A Raisin in the Sun. I've always loved it, despite it being very foreign to my existence.
The options, according to the poem: a dream can dry up (like a grape becoming a raisin) or it can explode. I may be losing some of the linguistic beauty, but that's the Cliff Notes version.
I had a dream this year, the year my youngest child started kindergarten. My dream was to write a book. It has been simmering and floating around for a long time but I knew it would need more focus than I could manage with a small person around.
This was going to be my year.
You can feel it coming, can't you? The inevitable twist.
I just pulled the little one out of school. We're going to do it at home. Hopefully just this year, but realistically it might be the forever path. It is a long story that I've told too many times so I'll spare you all the details. It will be fine. It is the right thing, which I am grateful to have seen clearly.
But. The dream. Deferred. This is hard. I know ya'll have dealt with this. Share. How have you handled? How do you wish you had handled? Tantrums are okay, right?
Eliana Osborn was raised on cold weather and wild animals in Anchorage, Alaska, setting the stage for her adult life in the Sunniest Place on Earth in Arizona. She grew up in the church and didn't know there were places where conformity was preached. She has degrees. She writes. She teaches. She has some kids. She even has a husband. She's trying to do her best.Image credit: Laurent Brancaleoni (used with permission).
