I was always unique (okay weird). So when asked what I wanted to be when grown up, I always said “an archeologist.” I loved the idea that archeologists uncovered forgotten pasts, revealed new artifacts, rewrote history.
Then, my sometimes practical aunt, told me how many years it to become an archeologist. To my child’s mind and way of reckoning, those ten to fifteen years AFTER I finished high school, meant there would be nothing left to discover! So why be an archeologist – I’d be obsolete by the time I became one.
Life certainly would be different!. In so many ways, there is no comparison. The experiences that unfold would mold the different layers to suit the dream me. Perhaps even my heart and soul would take another shape. Would the core me remain? Had childhood scarred us both the same way?
I did end up studying and teaching history. I dug through the archives looing for the past. But, I didn’t dig through the sand, the peat, the earth to discover new pasts and old futures.
If the fate/fact of chronic pain couldn’t be avoided, then the dream me and the real me would share something in common.
* I realize that modern archeologists (is that an oxymoron?) use sophisticated computer, programs, and technologies in their efforts to unearth the past. I just felt that a pick and a shovel made for a better title.