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But when I talked to Colin yesterday about this topic—when I looked into his dark brown eyes and realized Colin had always followed his dreams—and was still doing it, as a matter of fact, with his amazing movie role—something inside me clicked. A new kind of bravery was born inside me in that moment—one that inspired me to want to follow my dreams, whatever they might be, whether my parents like it or not.
When I told my mother the news at breakfast, and then told my father at lunch after that, neither of them took it well. My mother accused me of wanting to be a mother and wife, and nothing more than that. Which in her eyes, is a fate worse than death. And my father said he couldn’t believe I’d throw away the “expensive education” he’d bought me to become a “glorified celebrity ass-wiper.”
I tried explaining it to them. I told them I want to work hard and be useful, before one day settling down to have a family—which I admitted, yes, I do hope to have in the future. I told them how inspiring it was to discover Colin has all the money and success in the world with his band, but is still chasing acting and modeling dreams, simply because he still wants to grow and learn and challenge himself.
“Colin has that luxury, thanks to the money he’s making with his band,” my mom retorted during breakfast. And during lunch after that, my father said basically the same thing.
“But the tour showed me I don’t need a lot of money to be happy,” I responded to them both. “I don’t need a lot of material possessions. So, why would I pick a career that notoriously chews up souls and spits them out and gives nobody time to spend their big, fat paychecks or enjoy plenty of quality time with the people they love?”
Oops.
It was that last comment about quality time with loved ones that triggered my mother the most. Instantly, I realized my mom has felt judged, all these years, about her choices. Her decision to pursue a high-powered career while raising two kids. Of course, judging my mom’s life choices was never my intention. My childhood was the only one I knew, so it never seemed weird to me that I barely saw either of my parents. And I’ve always been proud of my mother for being such an ass-kicker in her career.
But now that I’m older, I realize I want to do things differently than my own parents did. I don’t want to follow in their footsteps, if I’m being honest with myself. Because that life wouldn’t suit my personality. But that doesn’t mean I’m angry with my mom for her choices. Or that I love her any less. Which is what she clearly thought during breakfast today.
“Mom, I’m not judging you,” I said to her, when it became clear her outrage at breakfast had more to do with her own insecurities than me going to law school. “I’m glad you’ve kicked ass in life and followed your dreams, Mom. But your dreams aren’t mine. I’m not the same as you and Dad and Logan and Grandpa. I don’t like arguing. I don’t care all that much about money. I want to make less but feel inspired every day.”
Mom rolled her eyes at that. “How very Gen Z of you, Amy Laverne. But if that’s truly your goal, then I don’t see how being a personal assistant for a celebrity in LaLa Land could get you there.”
I tried explaining it to her, again. I told her how amazing it felt being part of a found family on tour—being on a big crew that worked hard together to make magic happen—to make it possible for the band to do their job, thereby giving so much joy to so many, every night. I told Mom how working closely with Caleb, one-on-one, was especially gratifying because me doing my job to the best of my abilities allowed Caleb to do his job, which meant, indirectly, I was part of bringing joy to a whole lot of people across the world.
Mom never got it. When I was finished explaining everything to her, she stared at me, dumbfounded, for a long moment, before saying, “If you didn’t have my eyes, I’d swear you were switched at birth.” Surely, that’s the same thing she’s thinking now, as I follow her into my hotel room.
As the door closes behind us, Mom tells me to turn around, so she can unzip me, and then begins barking orders at me. Two minutes later, I’m out of my gown and in soft pajamas, my teeth are brushed and my face scrubbed, and Mom is tucking me into bed.
“Take these,” Mom says, handing me two Ibuprofen. And when I’ve downed the pills with water, she kisses my forehead and whispers, “Now get some sleep. I’ll come get you for brunch at ten.”
