WHO DO YOU WANT TO BE?

When you were little, eyes wide as could be, the teacher sat you down and asked you a simple question:

Who do you want to be?

And dreams of all the choices filled you up. You could fight fires, or teach, or land a shuttle on the moon, that question echoing in your head:

Who do you want to be?

But you got older, and the eyes grew dim. The choices fluttered away, those dreams seemed more and more childish as the days passed, the real question getting more urgent all the while:

Who do you want to be?

You had to make money, there was no time to waste, so you took the first job you were offered. You worked to save up to get away from it all, that question now a tiny whisper:

Who do you want to be?

But times got hard and cuts had to be made, the company laid you off. In the pits of despair, that question came back loud and clear, now screaming at you:

Who do you want to be?

And it was bad for a while, but the world didn’t end as you thought it would. The days passed in peace, and as they did you spent them with someone you hadn’t seen in a while: yourself. That question was barely noticeable, but still there:

Who do you want to be?

The interviewer called back, you landed another job. You didn’t need to save as much any more, the frills of life were just that. Those teacher’s words had more meaning now:

Who do you want to be?

You worked to live, no longer living to work. You read the books you always wanted to read, visited the places you always wanted to see. The question was a soothing one now:

Who do you want to be?

And in the end, that interim time was just a stage. The moments you remember had nothing to do with the office, with the rat race it contained. The teacher’s words were prescient, but not in the way you first thought. The question was always for you and only you. So:

Who do you want to be?