I hope I never get tired of taking pictures, the color blue, and reading. I hope I always love tacos and margaritas and Mexican music and culture. The Spanish language and people. I hope I always remember to focus inwards and be aware, awareness is the root of everything.
I hope my kids grow up to know their mom loved them more than taking pictures, the color blue, and reading. I hope my husband understands that he’s been the rock I needed before I could settle down on this earth.
I hope sarcasm stays in style and swearing loses its taboo-ness. I hope being a Sagittarius, INFJ, and empath are as cool to other people as I think they are. I don’t want to forget that Jimi Hendrix was my first true love, and that my F•R•I•E•N•D•S will always be there for me.
I hope I always get to live by the sea and near a forest. I hope I accept and welcome the fact that I’m an introvert, and stop listening to people that think it’s a fault. I hope my little rescue doggie really does love me as much as I love her. I also hope I learn to say No more often, and then feel no guilt.
I hope I will be remembered.
I hope I fulfill all of the dreams I’ve ever had, like a full upper arm sleeve tattoo, traveling to all the places, learning to play the guitar, writing a book, helping a battered woman get to a safe place, and finding homes for a couple of orphaned kids in Mexico. I hope I have the strength to be okay with myself if I don’t.
I hope the next time we go to my husband’s family’s home near L.A. that I take a little time for myself and meander through the plaza on Olvera Street. I hope coffee loves me too.
I hope once my kids leave the house that I get to nap as often as I’ve dreamed of doing. I hope they have huge, fulfilled lives, and become happier than I have ever dreamed possible. I hope I can learn to stop carrying weights that are not mine to carry.
I hope I have change-of-hearts and coin phrases and learn Italian and hike through Scotland and eat chocolate cream pie while I stare at constellations from a mountain top. I hope that being myself will be enough. I hope I’ve made my family half as happy as they make me.
I hope I never stop exaggerating or obsessing or making a big deal out of things or loving too much. I hope I let myself dance again.
I hope my kids call me often when they grow up.
I hope when we move to our property in the woods that we build another greenhouse, grow a garden and live off of it, get solar panels, and always have tequila on hand.
I hope I always have my obsession with terra cotta roofs, houses, archways and fountains. I hope someday I get to escape in a 1969 VW bus with my dog and man. I really hope I embrace my messy curls – that my daughter will forgive me for getting the same ones.
I hope I never forget how cool it is and how much work it took to be bilingual. I hope I always remember the feeling I had when I crossed the finish line of my marathon in San Francisco, 2005. Or the feeling when I said “I do” and it was said back to me.
I hope I get to see a million more sunsets, help raise some grandbabies, and get over my fear of being different than I am right now — the fear of being un-stuck. I hope my husband and I get to walk El Camino together.
I really hope the old adage is true, and that my ceiling is my daughters’ floor.