My life is not what I thought it would be. I suppose no one’s is, at my age. Do kids who grow up wanting to be rocket scientists, find themselves rocket scientists in adulthood? Do many young girls who want to be singers and dancers ever actually reach that dream? Or do things change?
They certainly did for me.
This week my 500-year-old uncle told me he ate Kevin Hart’s mother. Hart didn’t take that very well. Try negotiating that one. But I did. Hart yipped, Stephan couldn’t understand what he did wrong, and I brokered the situation, asking questions of Stephan, without Hart jumping off the very high cliff that was, quite literally, nearby.
In the end, I discovered Hart’s mom was already dead.
I wanted to be a Marine Biologist when I grew up.
This is the story of one week in my life. Someone has to tell it. It hasn’t even happened yet, but I can tell you from five years of experience now, on this new job of mine, that it will be a story worth reading. In fact, if I wrote the story of one day, it would shock you.
But someone has to tell this story. And it might as well be me.
I’m the one locked up in a room. I’m the one leading the adventures. I’m the one saving you, and you don’t even know it. So it might as well be me. Because I’m the one running the show. Even though it wasn’t my dream. It wasn’t my passion. But it was my birthright.
And I’m good at it.
So it might as well be me.