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"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Dreams as Children Thriving While Growing Up: A Personal Story

By Amber Schrader-MatthiesPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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I have always put on recitals for patients in hospitals, rehab clinics, and nursing homes. In this picture, I had just finished a recital with violin and cello, which I had only been playing for maybe three days. My dad was in shock I was holding my violin worth about eight grand like that. (December 2017)

I am nearly 24. I am young at heart, but old by society's standards. I should have everything figured out, but I don't. And to me, that's okay.

Why only dream when we are teeny tots?

When we are children, we always have these wild aspirations. Our family and teachers would ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” We would reply with something like a doctor, a rockstar or a soccer player. In return, they would clasp their hands together, bend down, and exclaim, “That’s great!” Our teachers would proudly write down our responses on a colorful piece of construction paper and staple it to a corkboard in our classrooms for other students and family to ooh and ah at.

As a child, I could never make up my mind on what I wanted to be. I wanted to be a pop star like Britney Spears. I would cover my arms and legs with play makeup and make my parents sit with my stuffed animals as I did a wild interpretation of “Stronger.” When I got older, my dreams of a pop star faded away and I wanted to be a veterinarian. I loved animals so it only seemed natural. When I was diagnosed with Autoimmune Hepatitis in 2014, I wanted to be a doctor or a nurse so I could help kids whose shoes I was once in.

Once I hit high school, I figured that I, for lack of a better term, sucked at science. Like, bad. The dreams of the medical field were trashed. I loved writing, so I figured, why not be an author? This dream was interrupted when my love of the violin rose to an unstoppable level. I wanted to play in a professional orchestra, like the Kansas City Symphony. I worked my ass off. I was putting in long hours every day, slaving away at the strings to the point I developed chronic pain in my wrists, fingers, shoulders, and back. When I opened up about these dreams to my violin instructor, he shifted my path to music education.

Me? A music teacher? The idea seemed absurd. I could not possibly imagine myself up on a podium waving around a stick in front of a group of aspiring musicians. The competitions, the side lessons... impossible. However, I took the idea and ran with it all the way to Northwest Missouri State University. In a few short years, I would be a music teacher.

The first few years were a breeze. I worked diligently at baby music theory and practiced any chance I could get. I dreamed of my senior recital and student teaching. There is a saying that you rarely stick with the major you chose as a freshman. I thought, “Not me!”

Lordy, was I wrong.

My fourth year at Northwest, I awoke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night in my dorm. I could not be a music teacher. This is NOT what I wanted to do. I could not be a high school band director for the rest of my life. No. Not now, not ever.

I had heard about music therapy but to me, it was for the people that did not have the ability to teach music. My mother, who is a recreational therapist, knew of a music therapist at a neighboring Veteran’s Affairs Hospital. I got in contact with her and she agreed to let me shadow her for a day. After that day, I knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

I changed my major to a Bachelor of Arts. It added a few semesters on to my undergraduate degree, but I could not be happier. My parents were onboard, my boyfriend was onboard, my professors were onboard, and everyone was onboard.

I thought I was onboard, too. But, maybe not.

Deep down, I was still that little girl who wanted to be a pop star, a doctor, a writer, a teacher, and now, a music therapist. Unfortunately, there’s not a huge job field for singing doctors who also teach music/use it as therapy and write books on the side. I mean, you have to sleep sometime. So, I guess I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I wish we fed these dreams as children instead of showering them with fake laughs and fake praise. Not everything has to be practical, and not everything has to make a lot of money. At the end of the day, if you are happy, who gives a shit about how many zeros are at the end of your paycheck?

My cousin has just finished preschool. She dreams of being an astronaut. Uncle Corey, Aunt Tiffany, if you are reading this, just know that your daughter will be receiving books on astronomy and the planets for Christmas this year. Feed her aspirations, support her, and I promise you, she will make her dreams come true. Because, after all, the sky is the limit.

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About the Creator

Amber Schrader-Matthies

Just a struggling music student trying to find her voice. Writer. Knitter. Violinist. Mental health advocate. Ferret mama. Catch me listening to underground rap or longboarding.

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