Embracing the "I Will Nevers"

“Hi.  My name is Amanda, and I (dramatic pause)… drive a minivan.” I try to swallow despite the lump in my throat as a collective gasp comes from the crowd. 

Standing behind a podium, shaky knees and sweaty palms, I look at the panel sitting in the front row.  I had hoped that they wouldn’t judge me – that at the very least they’d give me a chance to explain.

I look at the green-eyed, tan-faced little girl with the sandy blonde hair sitting “criss-cross apple sauce” (Indian style for those of you not in the “know”) on the cushioned chair furthest to the left.  “Me-Age 5” seems impervious to this shocking turn of events, but is somewhat curious by the reaction of those around her.  To her left, is “Me-Age 12” who looks disgusted – she can’t imagine the possibility of driving anything other than a sports car.  Everything about her body language screams “Ugh…gross!”  “Me-Age 16” laughs at first, then says, “Wait… you’re serious?”  And, as I would suspect, a simple eye roll comes from “Me-Age 18.”  She’s a firecracker, that one. 

I’m most afraid to look at “Me-Age 22.”  I know what she’s thinking, and as soon as I make eye contact, I know that I’m right.  Though I’d almost expected to see her jaw on the floor, I find that it’s actually quite the opposite.  Her jaw is clenched, her hands are white-knuckling the sides of the chair, and a single tear runs down her cheek.  She’s doing everything she can to keep from losing it.  She doesn’t have to speak; I know that I’ve let her down.  To that ambitious young woman, fresh off of a White House internship, to drive a minivan means to give up on so many dreams, so many goals.  To her, a minivan inevitably means that she’s married, with probably at least two kids, and is definitely NOT fulfilling any of her career aspirations. 

I quickly look away and find “Me-Age 27.”  She’s unlike the others.  Though I know she’s not necessarily excited at the prospect of a minivan, she’s accepting of the fact that it’s inevitable.  She smiles at me, nods, and looks down at her ever-growing tummy.  She knows that as much as she loves her Ford Edge, it’s simply not big enough for three car seats – my heart breaks looking at this one.  I know that she’s going to drag her heels and shoot for an SUV with a third row seat; I know that she’s going to come to the conclusion that a minivan is the only thing that makes sense for a mom with three kids under the age of three;  I also that in just a few months, she’s going  to sit on the edge of her bed in the middle of the night, shoulders shaking as she sobs, bargaining, begging God for a minivan.  More to come on that in a blog for a later date…

Driving a minivan is one of the many…many… things I swore I’d never do. 

Despite A LOT of persuading from my college friends, I swore I’d never join Facebook - I held off longer than most and didn’t join until 2009.  I vowed that I would never in a gazillion years “Tweet.”  I also said I would never get married and I’d never have kids. 

What I didn’t know at previous ages of my life is that, now, a minivan means that I have a job.  A job where I have a free vehicle, free gas, and amazing flexibility to come and go for doctor’s appointments, taking care of sick kiddos, etc.  I’ve been able to connect with old friends through Facebook and get a daily chuckle from Twitter.  I don’t know what my life would be without my boys – all three of them – Jeff, Jake, and Eli.

See, the aforementioned “I Will Nevers” are now among my favorite hobbies and greatest blessings.  If I would have been the stubborn, stick-to my guns kind of girl that I normally am, I would have missed out on some of the greatest things in my life.

I want to remain open to the things I thought could never happen, because I know now at the wise, old age of 29 that life has an unbelievable way of taking you off guard.  The greatest and most amazingly fulfilling things are the things we can’t anticipate, can’t fight, can’t deny. 

If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s that in order to grow, we have to expect the unexpected.  In Wrigley, we hear all the time that we have to control our controllables.  In order to do that, we have to experience a certain degree of openness to embrace the things over which we have no power – whether it’s the car we do or do not drive, the job we have, or falling in love… if we say no to the “I Will Nevers” we may just miss out something truly wonderful.

Open mind.  Open heart.  No regrets.