Time: Never too early, Never too late

I remember myself as a young girl with dreams of becoming a famous author, writer or journalist. 

I would look in the mirror and imagine myself as a famous author giving a talk about her latest book.  I would emphasize my words with facial expressions—a raised eyebrow; an opened eye gesture; a cheeky smile or a soft grin.  I would imagine myself accepting an award and thanking my fans and the committee for their appreciation of my latest literary masterpiece. 

Then suddenly, someone knocks on the bathroom door, “Hurry up, I’ve got to go”!  Dream time over for now…

Letś go back to an even earlier age.

I wrote my first poem in the second grade.   At seven years old, I started to develop an appreciation for literature and classical music. On a second-grade field trip we visited the Cleveland Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra.  I fell in love with the music.  It moved me to tears that felt so different from the ones that moistened my face on any previous occasion.   I didn’t know why or how.  I just knew I wanted more of this lovely music. Since I could hardly explain the feeling, I decided to write about it.  In my own second-grade way. I wrote something like this, “It made me happy.  It made me cry. Thank you, Ms. Brown for taking us downtown. I want to go back”.  When I gave the paper to her I could tell she was moved and very happy to know my thoughts.

Even though it was that heavenly symphonic music that opened me up and inspired my first poem, it was words that piqued my creative interests and opened up my imagination. Even as a child I sensed how the mixture of thoughts, emotions and words could create poetry that moved others to laughter, tears or deep thoughts.  Because of that I believe I was born to be a writer. 

This article is not about being on time.  It’s about how we use time to accomplish our goals and dreams.  From the day we are conceived until the time of our demise we measure time. The clock is ticking.  We time the developmental stage of newborns and what they have accomplished in increments of a week or month.  Throughout our schooling we are tested in a timely manner on our academic proficiency.  Time, ticks and it tocks, its hands around the clock while always, always moving on. 

We learn to set goals and try to achieve success in the time frame we have set.  But there are life events that may send our goals twirling away.  We run to catch our dreams only to sometimes find them far away from us. My personal experience and life events revolved around  survival, and being a young mother at the age of 18 years of age sent my dreams floating quite a ways beyond my grasp. 

My big dream was to attend Hampton University in Hampton, Virginia to pursue a degree in journalism. 

Then an unplanned teenage pregnancy threw me into an emotional breakdown replete with an extra helping of shame and guilt.  I put that dream far away. Although later on I saw that I didn’t have to do that, at the time, unfortunately, I felt so ashamed of myself.  I felt that not only had I thrown my own life away, but that I had let my parents down as well.  I guess I had the wind knocked out of me.

Then came the Postpartum Depression. Made much worse by being undiagnosed.  I know that now since working in the medical field. 

I loved my beautiful son but hated my ugly life. 

I literally beat the life out of my dreams because of shame.  I’d sometimes look in the mirror and cry for the unwed teenage mother who was looking for love and got her heart crushed along with her dreams.  At that time, I didn’t understand I was in a state of depression that needed attention.  Time truly waits for no one…

Fortunately, I was determined to graduate from high school.  I was also determined not to be a lifelong welfare recipient.  My dreams were never to be rewarded with food stamps and a check for an indefinite amount of time.  So I took classes here and there and was able to obtain low skilled jobs as a phlebotomist to pay my bills. 

My writer dream was really far away.  I was in survival mode and making a way as a single mother.  But it felt great to be able to take care of my son!

Even dealing with a child of my own and postpartum depression that spiraled into just being depressed, I imagined myself being that literary award recipient.  I would imagine standing in front of many people, speaking and accepting an award in recognition of my literary works. 

However, that dream did not appear as often or as strongly.  My dream would trickle in between working and doing laundry or while taking classes.

Somehow my dream was getting buried one shovel of daily survival at a time over many years. I had to make the world a better place for my son. 

I am thankful that somewhere there was breathe getting through keeping my dreams alive.  I’d like to call it hope.  And hope is something we all have in common. 

Through the years I dealt with my depression by learning to improve my coping skills.  By the time I was 35 I had really toughened up.  I was no longer feeling guilty.  I pulled up and out of my depression with the help of education, my parents, family and friends.  They were not ashamed of me.  They just knew I would do better.  And I did. 

I could fill the pages of a very thick book with all of my life experiences.  And I will.  Presently, I am in a place of gratitude for each lesson, as they have taught and shaped me into the individual I am today. 

I am standing in the mirror looking at myself today.  Only this time it’s not pretend.  I feel gratitude.  I see a survivor.  It’s not just wishful thinking.   I feel rewarded for coming through life and overcoming adversities that tried to charge me off as a loser.  Thank goodness my hopes and dreams that survived were somehow kept alive.  I see a committee of people who are my son, family and friends that loved and supported my literary works, regardless.  Like all writers, I still have my dream of writing that book that touches many people. 

I take great refuge in the fact that it is never too early to have a dream or never too late to pursue it. 

Sanettra Waller