Come into my office. Look. Do you see them? I have several fancy diplomas hanging on the wall of my office. A pretty (and huge) diploma from a university down south. It's beautiful, isn't it? And next to it, do you see that one? It is a fancy-pants diploma written in latin. The day I received that diploma, I thought I had arrived (except for the looming bar exam). They are pretty aren't they?
Do you want them? Seriously, take them from me. Please.
Come have coffee with me. I can tell you all about my high-flying career. I worked for an amazing man who wears a robe. I worked in a tall skyscraper and looked down on the world from a corporate palace. That day, I'll wear a beautiful, polished black suit with earrings and a necklace to match. I will whip out my phone to make sure no one from the office has called to tell me about a hearing that was just scheduled and will happen in three hours.
Do you want the towering office space, pretty clothes and the phone? Please, take them from me.
Because the truth is, I don't want them anymore. I worked so very hard to be "the best" and to earn jobs that are respected, prestigious and fancy. Yet, over the past six months, a crashing reality has arrived in my lap: I don't want them anymore. You see, this little person has taken over my life. His name is Liam. And I want the best for him. No, not fancy cars and toys. I want to give of myself to him (and hopefully, someday, a number 2... and maybe 3). I want to run my own business or do something I am deeply passionate about (midwife? lactation consultant? teacher?). And this fancy stuff? Its just window dressing to a life I no longer desire. Please, set me free.