Plan B

So what's next?

I'm supposed to come up with a plan, right?

Isn't that what we do when Plan A blows up in our faces?

We regroup, we keep moving forward.

I'm supposed to get a job, right?

I should find and update my old resume, register with all of the local temp agencies, start contacting former employers and asking for references.

That's step 1, right?

Or, I should go back to school.

I should drop Amira off at Peirce each day before heading downtown to sit in a classroom full of other 40 something year olds, and begin working on a Master's in something I don't really give two shits about.

That's what I'm SUPPOSED to do, but...

I'm not going to do either of those things.

I've spent the past 10 years doing exactly what I'm SUPPOSED to do.  Putting my family first, putting my own dreams on hold for so long that I damn near forgot what they were. 

I don't want to do what I'm SUPPOSED to anymore.

I don't want to spend every waking hour taking care of someone else and going to bed each night, exhausted by the weight of solely fulfilling others' expectations of me.

Exhausted by the sadness of another day spent not pursuing my own dreams.

That's not the example I want to set for my daughter.

I want her to know that if you want something badly enough, you work your ass off to get it.

You don't settle.

Life is too short to waste one moment of it working like a dog to obtain a career you're not even sure you really want.

I don't have a Plan B yet.

But I know that I want to write.

And I know that I want to be fully available to parent my child 24 hours a day.

I know that I don't want to work for anyone whose name isn't Khadija Jamila Brewington.

I know that I don't want to make a living taking care of anyone whose name isn't Amira Kenya Douglas.

And that's all I got right now.