The alternate reality happens concurrently, and my children love school. Which is good, because I am a successful optometrist. No one cares that I failed chemistry in high school in this world, because I already graduated the million years of school and residency to make it to this incredible place where I can look at an eye and see more than a beautiful color. I understand the intricacies of this magnificent creation. I can treat illness, ease pain, and provide the ability to see. This dream is more far-fetched because the things that fascinate me don’t match my skill set. I wonder sometimes if I would’ve been able to manage the schooling for such a task, but I convince myself that I could have with hard work. But maybe that’s because I’ll never get to test that theory.

Now, we live out of town. I still have to travel a bit to get to the ranch where I am an equine-therapist. Each girl connects naturally to different horses, and it doesn’t always come easily, but once they find “their horse,” it becomes an elixir of life. First, the physical labor of caring for these creatures. Then, the inner work of absorbing invasive thoughts and penetrating emotions. Finally, add crisp air and the overwhelming beauty of the vast world and you get… Well, you get magic. I’d like to think that I could help others with their emotional distress without getting caught in my own — to connect with people and nature and animals, all without wandering into my own thoughts and emotions.

For some reason, the magic in my fake lives doesn’t seem to materialize when I stumble through reality, trying to be the best me that I can be. Probably because the magic in my fake lives only exists if I can somehow be everything at once.

Am I just ungrateful?

Why do I feel this need to be everything?

How can I be a mother, a professional, connected to nature… How can I feel busy and useful while folding laundry with my children in school? How can I be there for my family with a full-time job? How can I balance creativity with passion? How can I support my family financially, physically, and emotionally?

Maybe I should work for myself, part-time, in something I’m passionate about? I can have flexible hours based on my kids’ schedules and cancel for siddur plays and Chanukah skits and birthday parties. I can take off longer after having a baby if I want to. I can make more per hour and work less.

Right?

Wrong.

Running a business means stress. It means you have to do the things you don’t want to do. It means clients cancel and you lose money as well as a proper schedule. It means with every cancellation, you still have to pay tuition.

Either way, I am not living on a hilltop in Tzfas. I am not making as much as my neighbor. I am not married to a maggid shiur. I am not able to make dinner every night, and even when I do make it, my kids don’t eat it.

My rumination ends here. At least for today. Because I can never be all of the mes I think I should be able to be. I can never even be one of the mes I think I should be able to be. I can just continue striving to be the best me that I am now. And hope — and pray — that this me is the one Hashem wants me to be.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 914)