mama talk #24: fashion designer turned [prospective] farmer

mama talk #24: fashion designer turned [prospective] farmer

Yes, you can say that again.

My high school Hills-binging days had wholeheartedly swayed me into wanting to enroll in FIDM (New York, New York), and take up a major in fashion. Thanks a lot LC for making it so dang enticing.

My 17-year-old brain had it all figured out. [ Any mama reading this right now, I totally heard that brief internal laugh that you just let out at the latter. ]

I refused to obtain a driver’s license, New Yorker’s don’t drive. Jeez. I began to fill blank sketchbooks with my less-than-artistic designs and drawings. You know, all those sketchbooks with the pretty covers that I haphazardly selected [ for no particular reason, or any particular need ] at the drugstore on my weekly runs . . . Confused? Click here to get up to speed.

Essentially, I gave my parent’s hell.

Then, my Senior year History course rolled around, & I felt that it was my absolute destiny to become a History teacher in an inner city school in New York City.

When graduation finally drew near [ and I speak on behalf of my parent’s when I say “finally” ] I had committed to a State school in Connecticut and declared a major in English, with the dream to teach at the high school level post-Grad.

Well, that didn’t come to fruition either. I switched mid-way to a Creative Writing major and the rest was history. Let’s just say, I never graduated from said State school.

Instead, the happily ever came as I walked the stage at graduation five years (of full-time student status) later [ at a different institution ] with my degree in Legal Studies and a job at a civil litigation firm in New Haven, Connecticut. [ Side note: I will forever cherish my days spent there. ]

Ready for this?

17 months, & three days ago today I walked into my comfy-cozy office for the first, last time. The day before I gave birth to our daughter, Brooklyn Meadow, was my last day of corporate employment.

Today, at this very moment, I am sitting on our old Rhode Island couch adorned with new pillows, Lemon is nestled at my feet, & Brooklyn Meadow is napping in the adjacent room. I am exactly 1,561.3 miles from home in a small farm town, otherwise known as Enid, America. I have taken up mama’in, wifey’in, writing, blogging, & creating (I have exciting things coming y’alls way) full-time. Since my “dirt is gross, I will be a fashion designer days,” I now have full & peaked interest in moving to the middle of no where with thousands of acres to farm and raise our babies on.

Life has changed. My dreams have changed. Ultimately, I have changed.

Y’all, the takeaway that I want to leave you with, is that C H A N G E, the scary and intimidating six letter word, is B E A U T I F U L.

Change is not bad. Changing your mind, perspective, game-plan, goals, dreams, does not make you wishy-washy or a failure [ as some like to view it ]. It makes you a beautiful, free, healthy & growing wild flower.

You are growing beyond limits. You are growing beyond the confines of your old-self, of yesterday’s self, of last year’s self. Your new experiences, they have changed you in the best way possible.

Our brains, our very beings, they are not “fixed,” but rather “fluid.” Let us capitalize on the fluidity & malleability, let us never stop changing & molding ourselves into our truest self.

Just because me circa 2012 wanted to be a fashion designer, doesn’t mean that me [ circa 2019 ] wanting to partake in “farm life” is a joke. Nearly eight years have passed. In that short timespan, I have outgrown old friendships & relationships, I’ve married by college sweetheart at the young age of 23, I had a baby at 24, & I moved to the middle of the country with the love of my life & our love child to chase dreams.

The constants in our life, those are apart of our DNA.

Remember that saying your mama likely said to you a time or two growing up, “You can take the boy out of the BLANK, but you can’t take the BLANK out of the boy”? [ Fill in the blanks however you see fit. ] But y’all, I am a firm believer [ whether anatomically possible, or not ] that tigers CAN in fact change their stripes.

Through & through, I am an idealist, a dreamer, a gypsy soul, an optimist, a drama queen. Those constants stick with me no matter what dream I am chasing next, or what small, middle-of-no-where town that I am endlessly convincing my husband is perfect & new-home worthy.

So the next time you change your mind on the style & decor of your furnished, re-furnished, & furnished again home, or you decide to switch majors or careers, or maybe, you switch from fashion to farming, just remember: The Hot Mess Mama approves.

And just maybe, Shrek wasn’t too off when he equated the likes of ogres to onions. Just maybe, our true-est self lies within the superficial exterior layers that surround it. Just maybe, the experiences that we face peel away at the layers separating us from our true self.

You grow girl. Do you, unapologetically. Life is too damn short.

*For the inspo’ behind this post, click here.

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