Aspire is a funny word. It means not only to seek to attain a goal, but to also ascend and soar. Who doesn’t want to soar, to rise to the heavens and shine like a star? Well. As long as you don’t crash and burn.
I don’t aspire as often as I used to. I was an aspiring actress for a while, then an aspiring director and playwright. I guess I could be considered an aspiring writer, but everything I write get published online or turned in for an assignment…maybe an aspiring published in a real life book I wrote all by myself writer? Am I an aspiring mom since I’m growing Tater, and why don’t I like the sound of that? (The aspiring part. The mom part I’m getting used to.)
I know that I aspire to be more organized and clutter-free. That seriously might be a pipe dream. (I have PILES; deal with it, Jethro!)
I aspire to be a good poet to the best of my ability. I’m taking a poetry class this semester and I’ve already learned more from it than I’ve ever learned about poetry…well, pretty much ever.
I aspire to be someone who sends out occasion cards actually ON the occasion when it occurs.
I aspire to do more than just have good intentions when it comes to good deeds and works.
I aspire to be a good cook — one who can whip up a dish without hovering dangerous close to the stove with a print-out of an online recipe and cussing my lack of a citrus reamer and who eventually ends up ordering pizza.
I aspire to stop letting people make me feel bad about myself, especially when it’s due to their own issues. (As and the wonderful Katt Williams says, and Jethro likes to remind me when I’m being sensitive, “It’s called SELF-ESTEEM! It’s esteem of your motherf**kin’ self. How am I gonna f**k up how you feel about you?”)
I aspire to be the type of mom who remembers that crayon marks wash off, that screaming, jumping up and down excitement over candy or cartoons is always warranted and splashing around in rain puddles is worth being late to dinner for. I hope that I will always keep in mind, “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt,” and “Possibly feed a fever, maybe starve a cold but always give them 7-up and cherry jello, even if they are all better.” I also pray that I remember that making out with their dad on a regular basis is much more important than ballet lessons or soccer practice.
Basically, I aspire to not suck. At least most of the time.
But what I really and truly aspire to be, in my heart of hearts?
She’s from Georgia, not Texas, but nobody’s perfect.