What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?

When I was a kid, adults loved to ask one particular question:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

As if at eight years old I was supposed to have some sort of ten-year, or apparently fifty-year, plan.

I’m pretty sure my answers changed regularly. And knowing me, they probably depended on what I had watched on TV that week, what book I was reading, or whether someone had recently told me I was good at something.

But somewhere along the way, that question stopped being cute.

At some point, we were actually expected to know.

Pick a career. Get married. Buy a house. Have kids. Build a life. Be responsible. Remember to schedule dentist appointments.

You know… adulthood.

And eventually, without really realizing it, I stopped asking myself what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Because I was grown up.

I had done the things.

I raised three kids. I worked. I paid bills. I took care of everyone and everything that needed taking care of. I made lists… so many lists.  I remembered birthdays and appointments and groceries and all the little details that somehow become your responsibility when you’re the mom.

Okay, maybe not all the details.

Let’s not get carried away.

But somewhere in all of that living, I think I started confusing being responsible for my life with having my life figured out.

Those are definitely not the same thing.

And now here I am, over 50, asking myself a question I thought I was supposed to have answered decades ago:

What do I want to be when I grow up?

Aren’t I Supposed to Know This by Now?

There is something slightly ridiculous about being over 50 and realizing you still don’t know exactly what you’re doing with your life.

At this age, aren’t we supposed to have wisdom?

A plan?

Matching Tupperware with all the lids?

I would at least like the Tupperware situation under control.

When I was younger, I assumed people in their 50s had everything figured out. They seemed so… adult.

Now I realize they were probably just as confused as the rest of us. They were simply better at hiding it.

Maybe that’s one of the biggest surprises about getting older.

You don’t suddenly wake up one morning feeling like a finished product.

At least I haven’t.

There was no magical birthday where I opened my eyes and thought, Well, that’s it. I officially know who I am, what I want, and exactly what I’m doing.

Quite the opposite, actually.

The older I get, the more questions I seem to have.

What do I actually enjoy?

What do I want my days to look like?

Where do I want to go?

What do I want to try?

What am I doing because I genuinely want to do it, and what am I doing because I’ve always done it?

And maybe the biggest one:

Who am I now?

When the Job of “Mom” Changes

For a huge part of my adult life, the answer to who I was came pretty easily.

I was Mom.

Of course, I’m still Mom. That job doesn’t exactly end because your children become adults.

I’m fairly certain my kids will always need me occasionally. Even if it’s only to ask a question they could have Googled themselves.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But motherhood looks different now.

My kids have their own lives. Their own schedules. Their own decisions to make.

They don’t need me in the same way they once did.

And when you’ve spent years organizing your life around other people, that change can leave a surprising amount of empty space.

At first, empty space can feel uncomfortable.

Because now what?

For years there was always a next thing that needed to happen.

School. Practices. Appointments. Dinner. Laundry. Holidays. Problems to solve. Places to be.

Then suddenly, you look around and realize:

Oh. I get to decide what happens next.

Which sounds incredibly freeing.

And it is.

It’s also slightly terrifying.

Because if I get to decide… then I actually have to decide.

And as a Libra with ADHD, decision-making isn’t exactly my strong suit. Give me too many options and I’ll overthink every single one of them.

Maybe I Don’t Need One Big Answer

I’ve always thought there was supposed to be some big answer.

Some grand purpose.

Something I would discover and think:

There it is. THAT’S what I’m supposed to do.

But lately I’ve been wondering if that’s the wrong way to think about it.

Maybe there isn’t one thing I’m supposed to be.

Maybe there are lots of things.

Maybe I can be a mom and a writer.

A traveler.

A woman who starts a blog even though she has absolutely no idea what she’s doing.

Someone who tries something new and occasionally makes a complete fool of herself.

Someone who books the trip.

Someone who changes her mind… a lot.

Someone who decides she doesn’t like something she spent years thinking she was supposed to like.

Someone who keeps becoming.

I really like that idea.

Keeps becoming.

Because “figuring yourself out” sounds like there’s eventually going to be a final answer.

Like one day I’ll solve the puzzle and say, There. Done. Mark that off the list.

But becoming leaves room.

Room to change.

Room to get curious.

Room to screw things up.

Room to discover something completely unexpected about yourself at 52 or 57 or 63 or 71.

Why wouldn’t we?

The Problem With Comfort Zones

Of course, there’s one tiny problem with all this becoming.

Apparently, you have to actually do things.

Annoying, I know.

It would be much easier if I could reinvent myself while sitting comfortably on my couch with a cup of coffee and a very detailed list.

I am excellent at making the list.

Doing the things on the list?

That’s where things get interesting.

Because trying new things means being a beginner.

And being a beginner when you’re over 50 can feel strangely uncomfortable.

We’re used to knowing how to do things.

We’ve been adults for a long time. We know how to handle problems. We’ve survived hard things. We’ve learned lessons, sometimes repeatedly because apparently once wasn’t enough.

Then you try something new and suddenly you’re standing there thinking:

I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

I know that feeling all too well.

Starting this blog has given me plenty of those moments.

So has stepping outside my comfort zone.

But I’m beginning to realize that maybe feeling a little uncomfortable isn’t proof that I’m doing something wrong.

Maybe sometimes it’s proof that I’m actually moving.

I Don’t Want to Be Finished Yet

There’s a strange narrative around getting older that I don’t particularly like.

We’re encouraged to slow down.

Settle.

Be comfortable.

Know who we are.

And there’s nothing wrong with comfort. Believe me, I am a big fan of cozy.

But I don’t want “comfortable” to become another word for “done.”

I don’t want to look at the rest of my life as one long stretch of maintaining what I’ve already built.

I want things I haven’t experienced yet.

I want places I haven’t seen.

I want stories I haven’t told.

I want to laugh at myself.

I want to surprise myself.

I want to occasionally do something that makes me wonder, Who even am I right now?

In the best possible way.

And yes, I’d still like plenty of quiet mornings, cozy fall days, good coffee, and absolutely nowhere I have to be.

I’m not trying to become a completely different person.

I’m trying to find out what else is already in there.

So… What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?

I still don’t know.

And for the first time, I don’t think that answer scares me quite as much.

Maybe I don’t need a job title or a perfectly defined purpose.

Maybe the answer isn’t a noun at all.

Maybe I want to be curious.

Brave enough to try.

Open enough to change.

Confident enough to say no.

Excited enough to say yes.

And willing to keep figuring it out as I go.

I spent a lot of years thinking adulthood meant eventually arriving somewhere.

Now I’m starting to think there is no arrival.

There is just this life.

This version of me.

And then the next version.

And the one after that.

So if you are over 50, or 40, or 60, or any age really, and you’re still trying to figure out what you want to be when you grow up, maybe that’s not something we need to fix.

Maybe it means we’re still interested in what’s next.

And I think that’s a pretty great place to be.

As for what I want to be when I grow up?

I still don’t have a perfect answer.

But I do know this: I’m proud of the woman I’ve become. I’m happy with where I am, even if it doesn’t look exactly like the life I once imagined. And I’m genuinely excited to see what comes next.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe growing up was never about finally having all the answers.

Maybe it’s about reaching a point where you can look back at how far you’ve come, appreciate where you are, and still be excited about all the things you haven’t discovered yet.

And right now, that’s exactly where I want to be.