What Will I Be When I Grow Up?

Something strange has happened to me, not completely unexpected and yet unsettling at the same time. I think that I have all grown up.

Top Secret Group, Hasamba

Remember when we were little, and our aunt, after squeezing our cheeks, asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up? I had so many dreams! I wanted to be prime minister and bring peace to the middle east, to sing on the stage of the Metropolitan, to be a famous piano player, a best-selling writer, a painter of amazing proportions. I wanted to get married (and stay married) and have four children and a house with fig and pecan trees. I wanted to be a journalist, and Spiderman (also Yaron Zehavi, the fictional teenaged leader of Hasamba who battled, in the 1940s, for Israel’s independence).

Now I’m forty, and all grown up. We could argue, perhaps, about whether middle-aged is an appropriate description (I’m going to take the devil’s advocate side). I have some white hairs and lots of laughter wrinkles, you know the kind. There were other signs I’ve been ignoring, like the fact that I have a house (one fig tree, no pecans), a boyfriend, two children, three dogs, seven chickens and one cat, all of whom I love. Or that my parents have both turned seventy already, my sister a successful pediatrician, my brother a game programmer, and my youngest cousins, the ones who are fifteen years younger than me, in the university pursuing their own careers.

But the truth is, I put all these signs on a back burner in my mind, because I was not ready to admit to one important fact: it is time to let go of some of my dreams and concentrate on one.

In this life, I will not be Israel’s prime minister. Or get a PhD. Or turn into a pianist or a singer at the Met. I will not become Spiderman despite the fact that we all, apparently, swallow a lot of spiders by sleeping open-mouthed at night. I could plant pecan trees, but a walnut will probably be better in the climate here, and there’s always my one fig tree.

Cover of White Bim

What I want to be now --not when I grow up, but now -- is a writer. An author with readers who read my book, come to hear me speak, and send me emails. That is the one dream I have held onto from the first novel I read by myself (White Bim, Black Ear by Gavril Troipolsky) and all the way till today. And in order to become a writer, an author, I am willing to let those other dreams go.

Life is so often about letting go, but I hope (and I think somewhere inside me I know) that by letting go of these dreams today I am opening up a wider door to the one dream I truly love. Writing.

What do you want to be now that you've grown up?

The Beauty of the Beholder's Eyes

I can’t help but be bothered by how important a role beauty seems to play in falling in love. I much prefer Fiona falling in love with Shrek. I love that Spiderman is not some ultra-handsome boy and how Superman wears glasses and is a total geek. I like it when the emphasis is on character, not outer looks.

Yet so much love is based on beauty. I googled “beauty research” and came up with the following interesting facts: people tend to believe that physical beauty is a sign of inner beauty. They tend to like those who like them and to think that beautiful people are smarter, more successful, and happier.

The research also says: “Interestingly, while physical attractiveness appears to be the biggest correlator and predictor (for choosing a mate), it rarely appears as most important when directly asked of subjects. Attributes like personality and character usually rank higher. Either people are not aware of how important physical attractiveness is in their selection criteria, or they are not fully honest.”

Yet I believe Belle fell in love with the Beast before she knew how he looked as a prince.  I believe that she could fall in love with the Beast because of his character, the inner beauty of his soul. But if the Beast could not talk, if he struggled with his wild side and could not show his true human nature to the girl, would she fall in love with him then?

I found this dilemma in the White Bear of Edith Pattou’s East whose wild side is stronger than his human part. The Bear does not remember his human name, and Rose, the girl he brings to his castle hoping she will break his enchantment sometimes suspects he looks at her as prey. Every night the bear climbs into bed beside Rose but does not talk to her or try to touch her, and he rarely talks during the day either. When Rose uses the candle given her by her mother and sees the bear in his beautiful human form, she does not yet realize that she is in love with him, but she feels an obligation to undertake the journey to rescue him from the Troll Castle east of the sun and west of the moon.

Because of his lingering silence, the White Bear remained a mystery to me throughout the novel. I could only pity him, and I wondered-- did Rose fall in love with him because of his beauty that her candle revealed or because of some inner trait which escaped me?

Perhaps resisting physical attractiveness’ role in falling in love is not the way, but I will argue that beauty is not just what shows up on our body or face. It can be influenced by character, charm, a smile. I find people’s looks often “grow” on me as I get to know them, and then beauty really becomes "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Or maybe it's the beholder’s eye.