waving at me in the side mirror. So surreal.
I quickly realize that I need to focus here. For one thing, I don't drive all that much anymore. I gave up my car when I moved to the city. And this is a pretty big truck. But soon I'm on the freeway and haven't run over any little old ladies. Finally I slip into a comfort zone of sorts and randomly wonder if I might actually make a good truck driver. It could be interesting to see the country from this perspective. But before long I feel bored with the three lanes and fast-moving traffic. I turn the radio to an FM soft-rock station and replay Will's question in my mind. What do I want to be when I grow up?
What do I want to be?
Have I ever really known?
I was one of those kids who never make up their minds about a career. I liked so many things, and my attention span was about as long as a TV ad. For a time I wanted to be a ballerina and even took lessons for a couple of years, until I realized my slightly chunky body wasn't exactly cut out for it. Then I wanted to be a teacher, until I overheard my favorite teacher talking in the teachers’ lounge, sounding so grumpy and unhappy. Next I thought I'dbe an artist when I got attention for some of my works in junior high. But shortly after that, I discovered drama and wanted to be an actress. And on it went. I changed my mind with the seasons. As high-school graduation approached, my dad tried to get me to follow his example and go into law. And for a short while (probably to please him, since that had always been such a challenge), I considered it, but academics was never my strong suit.
The brains in the family belong to my younger sister, Cammie. Her SAT scores blew everyone away—even my dad. But being a healer at heart, she decided on med school. When she graduates in June, she plans to go to Uganda, where she will help thousands of AIDS orphans and probably become the next Mother Teresa. I can just imagine people calling my petite baby sister Mother Camilla (although we're not Catholic). But Cammie really is an angel.
On the opposite end of the angel scale is my older sister, Callie. Not that she's a devil exactly, but she has always been pretty self-centered, looking out for the big number one. And what Cammie got in the brains department, Callie got in looks. Tall, blond, classy, beautiful.
In some ways Monica Johnson reminded me of my older sister. Well, other than that litde lying-and-stealing thing, because Callie can be obnoxiously moral. She got even worse after having kids. The only thing I can imagine Callie lying about would be her looks, like if she secretly got lipo or a tummy tuck. Last Christmas she complained about how much her body changed after giving birth to the twins three years ago. And unlike Monica, Callie hasno need to steal. Her husband is an executive with a big recording company in Nashville, and they live in this humongous house in Brentwood. I suppose if I could switch lives with either of my sisters, I'd choose Callie, which I know is pure selfishness on my part. To be beautiful
and rich
, ahhh… But to be perfectly honest, I'd probably choose a trade that would make me a combination of my sisters. I would like to be rich and beautiful like Callie and have the brains and generous spirit of Cammie—which might make me into something that resembled God himself, and then I'd be in big trouble.
Instead, I am just me. Cassie in the middle. And right now, as I drive down the middle lane of this freeway with cars passing me on both sides, I feel so lost. Not lost as far as my destination goes. My turnoffis only fifteen miles ahead. I feel lost as in I really don't know who lam or who I want to be. Even Will seems to have a better handle on his life than I do. What is wrong with me?
And this is nothing new. Good grief, it took me four years to declare my major, and by then my options were getting limited. I settled on an MBA with a minor in art and didn't graduate until I was nearly twenty-six.
I quickly realize that I need to focus here. For one thing, I don't drive all that much anymore. I gave up my car when I moved to the city. And this is a pretty big truck. But soon I'm on the freeway and haven't run over any little old ladies. Finally I slip into a comfort zone of sorts and randomly wonder if I might actually make a good truck driver. It could be interesting to see the country from this perspective. But before long I feel bored with the three lanes and fast-moving traffic. I turn the radio to an FM soft-rock station and replay Will's question in my mind. What do I want to be when I grow up?
What do I want to be?
Have I ever really known?
I was one of those kids who never make up their minds about a career. I liked so many things, and my attention span was about as long as a TV ad. For a time I wanted to be a ballerina and even took lessons for a couple of years, until I realized my slightly chunky body wasn't exactly cut out for it. Then I wanted to be a teacher, until I overheard my favorite teacher talking in the teachers’ lounge, sounding so grumpy and unhappy. Next I thought I'dbe an artist when I got attention for some of my works in junior high. But shortly after that, I discovered drama and wanted to be an actress. And on it went. I changed my mind with the seasons. As high-school graduation approached, my dad tried to get me to follow his example and go into law. And for a short while (probably to please him, since that had always been such a challenge), I considered it, but academics was never my strong suit.
The brains in the family belong to my younger sister, Cammie. Her SAT scores blew everyone away—even my dad. But being a healer at heart, she decided on med school. When she graduates in June, she plans to go to Uganda, where she will help thousands of AIDS orphans and probably become the next Mother Teresa. I can just imagine people calling my petite baby sister Mother Camilla (although we're not Catholic). But Cammie really is an angel.
On the opposite end of the angel scale is my older sister, Callie. Not that she's a devil exactly, but she has always been pretty self-centered, looking out for the big number one. And what Cammie got in the brains department, Callie got in looks. Tall, blond, classy, beautiful.
In some ways Monica Johnson reminded me of my older sister. Well, other than that litde lying-and-stealing thing, because Callie can be obnoxiously moral. She got even worse after having kids. The only thing I can imagine Callie lying about would be her looks, like if she secretly got lipo or a tummy tuck. Last Christmas she complained about how much her body changed after giving birth to the twins three years ago. And unlike Monica, Callie hasno need to steal. Her husband is an executive with a big recording company in Nashville, and they live in this humongous house in Brentwood. I suppose if I could switch lives with either of my sisters, I'd choose Callie, which I know is pure selfishness on my part. To be beautiful
and rich
, ahhh… But to be perfectly honest, I'd probably choose a trade that would make me a combination of my sisters. I would like to be rich and beautiful like Callie and have the brains and generous spirit of Cammie—which might make me into something that resembled God himself, and then I'd be in big trouble.
Instead, I am just me. Cassie in the middle. And right now, as I drive down the middle lane of this freeway with cars passing me on both sides, I feel so lost. Not lost as far as my destination goes. My turnoffis only fifteen miles ahead. I feel lost as in I really don't know who lam or who I want to be. Even Will seems to have a better handle on his life than I do. What is wrong with me?
And this is nothing new. Good grief, it took me four years to declare my major, and by then my options were getting limited. I settled on an MBA with a minor in art and didn't graduate until I was nearly twenty-six.
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