By Micki Bare
It was one of those “Where were you?” moments in history. Like the day President Kennedy was assassinated or the day John Lennon was slain. Only no one died. Rather the world was awakened to new possibilities. The bar was raised.
My generation, propped up on pillows or toddling around in diapers at the time of the broadcast, was instantaneously catapulted into a new world where the sky was no longer the limit. We were now expected to reach for the stars. We could go anywhere, do anything and be anybody. If a man could walk on the moon, just imagine what we could achieve.
It has been forty years since that legendary walk. And with everyone talking about the historic anniversary, it is hard not to reflect on our achievements. Everyone has their moonwalk dream – whether it is to become a rock star, write the great American novel or start a beach towel business from scratch and build it into a multi-billion dollar industry.
Of course, the years roll by and we reach an age at which we wonder if our toes will ever interact with the soft, mystical moon dust. When we look back over decades of life and start comparing what we thought our lives would be like to what our lives actually are, the gaps can be daunting.
My parents watched Neil Armstrong take a few steps and then spent the next two decades assuring me I could be a meteorologist, a concert trumpet player or novelist depending on my interests at the time. They even suggested I could become a brain surgeon until they realized I pass out at the sight of blood and needles.
With the burning of bras and attention given to the glass ceiling that men built and women were attacking with rocks, crowbars and mallets during my childhood, my parents made sure I understood that being a girl had absolutely no bearing on what I could achieve. When Sally Ride became the first woman in space, the event became an object lesson in being all I could be regardless of gender.
So here I stand at the reflecting pool, reviewing what I’ve done with my life so far. The bumps and roadblocks along the way are the first things I notice. Squinting, it becomes clear that achievements appear in how I handled the detours and where those new roads led.
Writing was something I always wanted to do professionally, but the decisions I made just out of college thwarted that dream. Along the way, I became the proud mother of three of the coolest, smartest, most handsome gentlemen I’ve ever met. I also experienced enough of life’s ups and downs to keep me writing for years.
When my first marriage ended, I became more determined than ever to make my dreams come true. As would be anyone in my position, I was filled with anger, sadness, bitterness, hurt, desperation and confusion. I needed to do something with all of that emotion. And so it became the rocket fuel that launched me toward the stars that held my dreams.
Along the way, my children and eventually Hubby – the man who convinced me that romance and love do exist and are not contrary to reaching for the stars – encouraged me to keep reaching regardless of the obstacles and rejections that are so common along the road to success.
Looking back, it was difficult to navigate the definition of success. During the 1980’s, the ruler used to measure success was made of bills – dollar bills. During that fantastic decade, money and status was supposed to be waiting at the top of the career ladder. If you didn’t make enough money to buy the convertible BMW, you bought it with plastic.
Thankfully, my parents were not affluent. Dad worked hard for his money and he and mom were optimistically frugal. They saved actual money and paid for furniture, appliances and my college education with cash. Despite the 1980’s, I learned that success was not tied to the neighborhood in which one resided, but rather how one lived life.
If we are doing what makes us happy, we will be happy regardless of the size of the paycheck. Of course, it helps greatly and reduces stress to live within our means.
During my ride in my rocket toward my moon, stepping out and dipping my toes into the soft, mystical moon dust that is my weekly column and a few other published writing projects along the way, I have come to realize that walking on the surface was literally only the first step.
Reaching for the stars means the moon is merely a stop along the way. We must keep reaching past the moon. Four decades after those first steps, people live on a space station, transported by space shuttles. Four decades later, I can still go anywhere, do anything and be anybody.
And while I am proud of the reflection that is staring back at me, I won’t linger. I must turn and continue reaching for the stars. There is, after all, a rather large universe out there.
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Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, “Relative Expressions.” She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.
