I'm stuck in Oz

A strange thing happened to me tonight.  I went to see my students' fabulous performance of "The Wiz".
The musical was just starting and here comes Dorothy, talking with Auntie Em about a storm that's coming and poor Dorothy gets caught up in the tornado.  And I started to cry.
"What's wrong?" I asked myself.  "Why are you crying?"
I paused to let myself collect my thoughts...
"I'm just... so... " and then it hit me, "homesick".
Now, you might be thinking, "Hey, this girl is deep!  She relates to Dorothy's plight before she even makes it to Oz!"  Sadly, friend, you are wrong.  It's much more simple than that.  I recently moved across the country from the one and only, Kansas.  You may not know this, but when you live in Kansas there are Wizard of Oz references everywhere.  Dorothy, Toto, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow and that lovable Cowardly Lion are there to greet us at every gas station, gift shop, and grocery store.  They become a part of your everyday life whether you notice them or not.  And watching Dorothy tonight be swept away from that place I once called home just did me in.  She and that "little dog, too" are literally reminders of my old home.
But my homesickness isn't about a physical location because Kansas is, after all, horribly boring.  (No offense, guys).  For me the wave of homesickness that hit me was more of a grieving over the loss of a chapter in my life.  Kansas represents so much for me.  It's where I spread my little baby wings of independence.  It's where I started my life with my husband.  It's where my cats are from.  It's where I met some of my dearest and closest friends.  It's where I grew from a teenager, to a young woman.  I can never go back to that precious time in my life where everything felt so fresh and new.  I cannot live in the dorms of my alma mater with those sweet young girls and contemplate with them, "Where exactly does the freshman 15 come from if you have to walk everywhere in this town?".
The doors have closed and I've moved on.  And unlike Dorothy, I can never really "go home".  I have to grow up and make my home somewhere else.  My heart is having a hard time with this.  But I think that's ok.  I'm learning more and more how important it is to be gracious with ourselves because we are all, to some extent, stuck in Oz.

Welcome and Hello

For my first post, I'd like to address the issue that I have briefly commented on in my "Let me introduce myself" page.  You see, I'm going through a quarter life crisis.  Everyone has always told me that I can be whatever I want to be.  As a result, I was the (overly)well-rounded high school girl.  I danced, rode horses, sang in the choir, acted in a drama team, played piano, participated in youth group activities, had a boyfriend, and maintained a good grade point average because the name of the game was, after all, get into college to become whatever I wanted to become.  I never thought to narrow down the field.  Isn't that what college is for?
Going into college I had a few ideas: Vet School, International Business, Anthropology, and Architecture just to name a few.  So I didn't declare a major until my second year.  I looked over all the classes I took as a Freshman and picked the one I liked the best.
And that's how I became a French major.
It only took 2 years of college to find out that speaking French and reading French literature and studying abroad in Paris in and of itself does not pay the bills.
And that's how I ended up double majoring in French and Secondary Education.
Now I like teaching and all, but can I, like my mother, do this for the next 35 years?  What happened to all those open doors?  Aren't they still open, just waiting for me to go through them?  Can I really be anything I want to be?  Am I living up to my potential by settling into my career, buying a house with my husband, and having 2.5 children?
So here's where this blog comes in.  I have this friend from work and she has a blog (check it out, it's amazing: aquirkaday.blogspot.com).  Before her blog I had this idea that blogs were written by people with important information to convey to the public, like personalized PSAs or blogs that teach you how to cook.  But her blog is not one that boasts importance, but transparency.  I've learned more about my friend by reading these insights into her world through her blog.  One day, while reading her blog, I found myself pining after the outlet she has found in her writing.  "Wow, Stacie is so lucky.  She can blog to process how she feels!  I wish I could... wait.  I can do anything.  I can blog."
Hence, the ramblings of a girl in progress.