My mother said my grades didn't reflect my potential but maybe they did; regardless, those weren't the grades of the future president. So, I decided to just dabble in politics. Dressed up in a sweater, skirt and chunky high heals, I babbled political rhetoric, passed out pamphlets, joined parties at meeting halls and then at cocktail bars. It was passionate, I was loud and it was all horribly insincere and I grew tired of it, turning towards the Peace Corps and choosing to give up red meat instead.
I don't know if I could have been a rocket scientist. I am interested in physics and enjoyed chemistry and math but not enough to want to give it my nights or my days. Not enough to choose a science museum over an art gallery, a night sky over a cold morning walk. So, I suppose that if even given the potential, I would have been a lousy rocket scientist.
Power and money taunts and temps from the first time one melts into leather bucket seats. It is insecurity's crutch. So, we make the effort and let it steer us in a particular direction, one that maybe our body is not suited, and this is when we experience what we believe to be a failure, and we are reminded of the voice that said, "We can't all be rocket scientists, Darling." However, this time we cannot be deterred by the distraction of a child's game; so, we wallow, ironically, because we are not the person that we were never suppose to be.
I have wallowed, little one. I try to distract from the practice, turning the music up to dance with you, holding a book to hand, whispering to the characters. Sometimes, I cuddle with your father, head on his shoulder, hand in hand, legs intwined and become silly, so silly that we laugh till we stop making sense and for a moment I can forget about my wallow and be happy.