That’s Not My Dream
Over the last two weeks it’s started to really set in that we are doing it.
We are living the dream.
We are leaving.
We’ve set the date and it’s actually happening.
Then comes the grief.
The stress.
The guilt.
I’ve put in the time, the effort, the tears. But what has it gotten me?
Stress.
I’ve said I love my job, then I like my job.
How do I answer that question now?
It’s ok, it’s a good job, but I’m leaving it all behind. All that work for what?
I’m leaving after 10 years.
After two degrees.
After months of study for those two letters that say “listen to me, I know what I’m doing, I’m not a little girl that you can push around.”
After years of working for a community I have never been and will never be a part of.
Waiting years for that big promotion.
Finally getting that shiny new title I said I wanted but it’s not enough. It’s not enough money to entice me to stay.
To tell my husband “I know you need this, but that check matters more than you”.
All because that’s the American Dream.
But that’s not my dream.
My dream is slow days.
Warm sun on my face.
Rich hot coffee and crisp cold water.
Free dogs and sleepy cats.
Broken sidewalks and dirty gutters.
Small buses and cheap fairs.
Quick flights and lasting memories.
Long walks and long embraces in the morning, afternoon, and night.
Big paws and white hair.
A full camera and wet brushes.
Friendly faces and new stories.
Feeling part of a community at last.
That’s my American Dream.
That’s Albania.
