One of my favorite Aunt Cheryl stories isn't my story. Well, not really a "story" at all since it has no rising action, climax or resolution. I could try to recreate those things, but I don't think that's necessary. My Aunt Cheryl is rather petite. She barely clears 5' on a good day. She also forgets this fact on a regular basis. In her head, I think the foot that she's almost clearing is 6, not 5. That point aside, once upon a long time ago when my brother (now well over 6' tall) was wee and young, she instituted a rule that has stuck for all time. No matter how tall we get, she's still in charge.
There are lots of other stories about my dad's littlest sister (youngest too!) that are worth telling, but that's sort of the best one for my purposes... which is amorphous at best at the moment. It's not a "good things come in little packages" sort of purpose, although between MBFJ(c)G and my Aunt Cheryl, that is certainly true. If you add in my friend Marita Beth then you have conclusive evidence thrice verified. Ok, I really just wanted to say "thrice."
No, I think what I'm gong for is something along the lines of "don't get too big for your britches" in the ego and attitude way, not fudge brownies a la mode for dinner kind of way.
Life is funny, in both the "ha-ha" and the "uh-oh" varieties. This profound statement is fueled by a lack of sleep and low fat chocolate soy milk. But stick with me a minute. I have a feeling I might be getting to a point somewhere in here. So, as you get older (I won't say grow up, since some of us never do), what you want changes. I still want a gem-encrusted rocket pony and things covered in purple ruffles, but I no longer think my brother has cooties or that being a ballerina would be the coolest thing ever. Seriously, one book where they mentioned broken toes in dancers and I was OUT! Ok, so, injuries during physical hobbies aside, my "dreams" are pretty mundane these days. Have been for a while, I think. I want to learn to cook meat without having to use a thermometer to tell if it's done. I want to chop vegetables effectively. I want to bake a cake from scratch (or flour, not from a box) at least one time, just to say I can. Knitting and quilting and sewing in most forms can hopefully wait a bit, but, I have kitcheny goals at the moment. My "life" goals are a little looser. I still dream of travel, but like it in the dreaming stage. I don't have career goals, unless I find a way to make a career out of spending time on the internet with a cat in my lap. But then it would be work, and not fun, and I worry about that in a non-worry-more-an-excuse kind of way. But I do dream of being sort of well-rounded* and interesting...unique and special, just like all my friends.
I also dream of a day when all my floors are clean, all my laundry is washed & put away, and the bathtub is clean enough for a good long soak. And to be a rockstar. On the moon. With Steve.
So what does this have to do with getting too big for your metaphorical britches? Um... not a lot maybe, unless it's a reminder to myself to set smaller goals, take things one at a time, and listen to the wisdom of people older (and shorter) than me.
*also in the ego and metaphorical way, not hot-fudge-milkshake-for-breakfast way