My dream was to be an astronaut. Not in the eight-year-old, “When I grow up” way, but I really was going to be an astronaut. I had written to NASA for an application packet (so I knew what to take, school wise) and was on a first-name basis with the woman in the astronaut selection office. I was going to be an astronaut.
That was age 12, 13, and 14.
As I’ve told you, I got sick at age 14, which to my current state. God obviously had other plans for me. I’m not at all bitter. My life is wonderful.
But, hypothetically, if I had been an astronaut, would I have walked on the moon? Mars?
I sometimes become sad at what could have been. But one thought brings me back to Earth (no pun intended): I DESPISE MATH. There’s the silver lining.