“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

It’s a typical question.

We’re all asked it at one point or another, and I was well-used to answering it by the time I reached high school.

“Doctor,” little freshman me would say. “Maybe a lawyer.” I’d put on a soft smile, encouraging the person asking to continue.

“Wow,” they’d say, chuckling lightly. “Of course you would.”

They didn’t mean this as an insult, really; that’s just how it was. I grew up as one of three girls, the youngest daughter of one of the beloved town doctors, the youngest Stewart girl. High expectations came with the last name.

It was always that way.

My sisters and I were the epitome of good girls; constantly working hard and excelling academically were just the norms of being a Stewart.

Following in our namesake’s footsteps to pursue an esteemed career, one that society held in high regard, seemed logical. The path for our lives formed before us, formed before me, paved by an unseen hand.

I never questioned this, never thought of being anything else, doing anything else.

But I never quite saw it, either. There was no picture in my mind, no vision of myself as a future doctor treating her patients or as a lawyer fighting for my client in court.

There was a disconnect between this supposed future life of mine and my reality, my now.

I guess that’s why it didn’t really scare me when I thought there would be no future at all.

* * *

“Sarah, you have to. You can’t go on like this. You have to gain weight. If you don’t...if you don’t, you will die.”

I lay in the hospital bed, wires and tubes poking out of me. I looked at the doctor, this man who had known me since I was a little kid running around on the playground outside at church. I saw the worry in his eyes, the lines of concern that formed between his scrunched brows, and I wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him it would be all right; I would be all right.

You are only 14 years old, their previous words echoed through my mind. You still have so much life to live.

But did I?

* * *

“So what do you want to major in?”

Three years later, the question had changed. My answer, not so much.

“Probably bio-chem,” Was that even my voice? “Or maybe do a pre-law program.” Were those my words? So hollow, so lacking.

I was on the same old path with the same old expectations, with one key difference: I looked healthy. I was recovered. I was a new person with a new vigor for life.

Right?

* * *

“Sarah, I need to talk to you.”

I looked up, stuffing the last of my papers into my folder.

“What’s up?” A million things zipped through my mind. Had I gotten a bad grade? Had I not turned something in? Was this about my valedictory speech rough draft?

“Come here; sit down,” Mrs. Stephens said, gesturing towards a chair next to her.

Mrs. Stephens, my AP language teacher junior year and both my AP literature and creative writing teacher senior year, is responsible for exposing me to all kinds of written works, honing and refining my writing skills, challenging my worldview, digging deep into what makes me think the way I think, what makes me feel the way I feel, what makes me who I am.

She was the kind of teacher you couldn’t help but be shaped by, the one who years later you could still hear her voice speaking life into you.

“Sarah, tell me: where do you see yourself in five years, in 10? Where are you; what are you doing?”

I opened my mouth to speak, ready to repeat the same answer I had already told her several times before.

She held up her hand, though, stopping me.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want you to answer now. I just want you to think. Really think. Get outside that head of yours, outside the little box you have put yourself in.

She was silent for a moment, and then she stood. Going over to her desk, she shuffled through the haphazard piles of students’ papers that covered every inch.

I laughed inwardly at her constant state of disorganization. Man, I am going to miss her.

A few moments later, she returned, placing a pile in front of me. She nodded towards the stack and then looked back into my eyes.

“What does shewant?” I looked closer at the papers then, recognizing them as my own from the past two years.

“This girl, the one within these pages, doesn’t match who I see in front of me. She is bold, freely speaking her thoughts, unafraid to be raw, to be real. She feels deeply, lives deeply.

“She has faced demon after demon, fighting with every ounce of her being to survive, to recover.

“She uniquely voices the pain and darkness that are at home within her, side by side with her deep desire to live in the light, to believe in the hope she preaches to others.

“She seeks the unknown, is curious about the world and the people that live in it. She explores every emotion, every action, wanting to know more, wanting to know the why, not just the how.

“She sees past all this, the world that is visible to the naked eye, seeing more than just the here and now, seeing more than what people choose to show.

“She is excited at the thought of the places and people she’s yet to encounter, of the person she is yet to be.

“That’s the girl I’m asking about. What does she want?”

I sat there, silent, having no answer to give.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think of the possibility of another path, of another life I could live.

I knew who I thought everyone wanted me to be -- but what about who I wanted to be?

For the first time in a long time, I let myself ask that question, to truly be open to all of the possibilities.

And that’s when I realized my answer: I had absolutely no idea.

I had no idea what I wanted my life to look like, where I wanted it to go, who I wanted it to be with.

There was no set path before me, no specific step I needed to take next.

My breath caught, my pulse quickening as the anxiety of not knowing rose. But the anxiety was followed by another feeling, one I wasn’t familiar with: a jolt of warmth, a thrill running through my body as I contemplated my future.

The picture was blurry and changing constantly, shifting this way and that as my different wants and desires fought one another, but I could see it.

For the first time in way too long, I was finally able to dream.