Inspire greatness

You will only ever be as great as you imagine yourself.

Philosophy from a 21 year old

Sometimes I forget about the act of living. This forgetfulness is probably not a fault I alone suffer from. I think most people, at one point or another, forget to live. It makes me seriously wonder which really is more important, the journey or the destination? For so long I've anticipated the standard American dream of a life. What kind of reality is that?

At 21 my priorities are changing. As is my outlook for the future. College, careers, family... I still want this kind of normality, I just feel like there is something I haven't found.

Taking work home with you

My mother once told me that my greatest asset is the unconditional love I give to everyone. I was probably seven. I understood her, I "loved everybody" (to quote The Presidents). At the time I really did. It was strange, I just had this never ending love for people. This, however, I think led to the opposite, sort of. I attached quickly and was disappointed many times. I still feel this urge to just love though, to be interested, to be a part of lives.
So I think, perhaps, life is supposed to consist of giving your heart away and knowing you may have to mend it later but having to take the risk anyway. Recently I learned a little girl at my work is terminally ill. For being part of my everyday life I took the news well (I think). I spoil her a little more. Sneaking pieces of candy now and then. Taking extra time with her and cherishing it.
There is also a little boy. Not just any little boy, but a two and a half year old that has stolen my heart. I have a serious bond with these children. They are such amazing little people. I hope that my love stays with them forever, I know I'll never forget these moments.

A day at the office

To be greeted every morning by four year olds rushing towards you like speed racers (as they refer to themselves) is a powerful start to a day. You feel calm and patient, for a moment. Then the whirlwind that is preschool flings you face first into finger painting and singsong. You become young again, teaching malleable minds things of your past. Influencing while striving to be on your best behavior. Hoping these memories will be cherished as long as they can be remembered. Memories. Their stories. Who else is making memories with them, I wonder? Who else is writing their stories? I'm sure their parents are thinking the same things of me. I love these children who are not mine. I want to borrow them away and smother them with the abundance of love I have for them. They are teaching me so much, I cannot be grateful enough.