She traversed the globe in an age when travel by air was not the convention – from Italy to Australia, Hawaii to Baghdad and Croatia. She took lessons in singing and dancing. She survived divorce and found love again at age 40. She wrote poetry, plays and books, which have sold over a billion copies worldwide. She, is my literary hero, Agatha Christie. I
devoured read her autobiography over a few days last week, and was awestruck.
In a way, she lived a quiet life. But she lived big. She wasn’t afraid to try new things, nor she was hesitant in admitting when something didn’t work for her.
This got me thinking. What have I done? How big is my life?
In my early 20’s, I had great ambitions. I found my footing in public relations and marketing, and had a terrific 10-year career. I was good at what I did. Could I have scaled the ladder further at my last job? Maybe. I will never know. I left when I was at the threshold of something bigger, to embark on the next phase of life – motherhood.
I had dreams to travel the world. To live abroad. To experience different cultures, and see how other people live. I dreamed of Italy, Denmark, Switzerland, South Africa, Argentina, Brazil. I wanted to walk down unfamiliar streets, smell exotic scents, taste amazing food, meet incredible people. I have had the privilege of living briefly in England when I was at university. I have traveled to numerous places for work – places I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. But I didn’t see, taste, smell, touched as much as I would have liked. I did not have my own agenda.
I wanted to make a difference. To the world, to someone’s life. I wanted to create ripples. I wanted to live big.
For the past four years, I have carved out life has a wife and mother. I had the privilege of carrying two children to term. Those children are thriving. We have a lovely home. We live comfortably. When people ask me what I do, I say I’m a mother.
But some days, that doesn’t feel big. It feels ordinary.
I haven’t done anything extraordinary like write and publish books. I write and publish this blog, just one of many out there. I haven’t saved lives, I’m not an activist, I haven’t raised money for charity. I have never won awards or received recognition for writing, or blogging, or anything really, in real life or online. I haven’t run a marathon or even a 5k.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining or fishing for compliments. This is just me, laying it out as I see it.
So as I sit here, contemplating Agatha Christie’s life, and the lives of the many women whose blogs I read, I realize that maybe my role in life is not to live big.
Perhaps, my job here on Earth, is to give life to my children’s dreams. Maybe, my real purpose is to guide my children to greatness, wherever they may find it. It is my role as their mother, to give them the life skills and tools to make something of themselves.
I think that my children are meant to live big, in the way I did not, cannot. If that is my place in the world, then I could not possibly ask for more. Perhaps, this is me, living big.
What is your life ambition? Have you achieved it?