Picture this: it’s 1983. The children of Miss Ching’s kindergarten class are presenting their speeches entitled, “When I Grow Up.” Up next is little Courtney Kunimura. In her pink dress with silver stars and Japanese-doll haircut, she exudes a special confidence that only the truly naïve possess. “When I grow up,” she says with a smirk, “I’ll be driving a flying car like in the Jetsons, be a famous writer, marry a rich, tall man and have a daughter who only wears pink dresses. Any questions?”
Miss Ching raises her hand. “Yes, what will you do to accomplish your goals?”
Five-year-old Courtney waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t know. Just live, I guess.”
Ahh, if it were only that simple. Since I’m 29-years old, I’m technically an adult. Let’s review. Am I driving a flying car? Nope. Am I a famous writer? Not even close. Am I married to a rich, tall man? Negative. And do I have a daughter who only wears pink dresses? No way.
What happened to the lofty dreams of that confident mini-me? I lived, and that should have done it, right? So what went wrong? Maybe, unlike most people, I had too-happy a childhood. Seriously. I was spoiled and sheltered. For example, back in high school, I remember trying to kick start my career as a writer. The problem, however, was that I didn’t know what to write about. I received the typical advice from my English teacher: write what you know. I lamented my boring life and wished for exciting things to happen so I could write about them.
And boy, did my twenties deliver. During the past ten years I fell in love, lost my mother, got a BA, had my heart broken, lived in Japan, traveled Asia, moved back to Hawaii, grudgingly acquired a step-monster, wrote a play, won a playwriting contest, earned an MA, got engaged, broke an engagement, broke a few more hearts, explored Europe, lost a grandfather, made a movie, and wrote a book. Be careful what you wish for, right?
Though it’s been a tumultuous decade, I still don’t feel “grown up.” However, I finally feel ready for all the things I’d wished for (well, except for the flying car). Before, writing was an intangible dream. Now, I see writing as a serious career goal, my number one priority. I’ve reached a place where I can seriously commit myself to the hard work that comes with being a writer. On the relationship front, I think I’ve needed the past twenty nine years to figure out that a man isn’t going to complete me; I need to be whole and happy and confident with myself. On the brink of turning thirty, for the first time I feel like I know who I am and what I want. Because of this, hopefully I’ll be able to nurture a healthy, satisfying, and long-lasting relationship. And as for that daughter I wanted, I think she’ll come when I’m ready. And I’m not quite there yet.
Though my twenties were filled with uncertainty and surprise, this life experience has undoubtedly prepared me for anything my thirties have to offer. I’m pretty sure I’ll never run out of things to write about. I see everything, bad or good, as inspiration.
And what about that five year old me, sitting on my shoulder whispering, “So? What about those goals I set for you twenty five years ago? When are you gonna grow up? ” I shush her and say to myself, “I’m working on it.”
By: Courtney Kunimura
