When I was a teenager, I wanted to be famous. Not famous-by-sight famous; but famous "I-recognize-that-name" famous. I wasn't even particularly concerned with why, although I always assumed I'd write a book of some kind and become well known that way.
In recent years, though, I've found my desire for fame has vanished. (Lucky for me!) While I enjoy it when family and friends tell me they've enjoyed my blog or my podcast, I've got zero desire to lure large clusters of strangers into my orbit. Maybe it's because, as I've grown older and less naïve, I've noticed that apart from money fame seems like a pretty lousy deal. Entire swaths of the population start expecting things of you - even if you've only been famous for a short period of time. You suddenly become the spokesperson for everyone who's ever enjoyed your work. Not to mention the complete absence of a private life. Every week at the supermarket I see unflattering photographs of celebrities, both current and has-been, under purple prose headlines. Do I want every mistake I make in my life on the cover of a trashy supermarket tabloid? Is there enough money in the world?
Do you know? I really think there isn't. I think if someone walked into my house right now and said "You'll have more money than you'll ever be able to spend for the rest of your life, but in return you won't be able to go to the store or your public library or even take a walk out in your yard without a security detail, and every time you so much as grump at the driver in front of you on Route 2 it'll be on the news," I'd tell them to pound sand. Easy for me to say, since we have enough money - if we were living in a one-room basement apartment and living off of Top Ramen I might change my tune - but I'd rather stick it out at work, budgeting carefully and working toward retirement, than take a big lump of money in exchange for my privacy.
Of course, if I ever do write that fabulous book, I could do it under a pen name. Yes, I think I'd probably cheerfully take the bucks if nobody knew it was me.
It occurred to me today, while Steve and I were taking our lunchtime walk, that my disregard for fame might also have something to do with Emily. I realized, in an odd way, that I've fulfilled my evolutionary purpose. I know that sounds cold and a little weird; but in the grand scheme of things, the purpose of humans is to make more humans.
But...I don't want her to be famous either. If she ever becomes famous, through her own choices, that's one thing. But I'm finding I wish for her peaceful, happy, prosperous anonymity.
A couple of people have suggested to me that she try modeling. I have really ambivalent feelings about that. On the one hand, I do love that she's a pretty child. I'd believe she was pretty no matter what she looked like - but I get feedback (unsolicited, really!) from other people to the same effect. On the other hand - NO. When she's older, if she has an opportunity and expresses an interest, that'll be different. But right now? Forget it. Even if she was guaranteed to grace the cover of every cutesy suburban parenting magazine out there, NO. She's a kid, and she needs time to be a kid.
I'm 42 years old today. Funny that I don't feel it. At the same time, though, I wouldn't go back for anything. I may wish I'd learned my lessons more quickly; but I needed to learn them, and I'm glad I did before Steve and I got married. The only bad thing about getting older is that there is less time before you, but I don't begrudge any of the time behind me. My life is really lovely right now. I may not have known where the path was leading as I followed it, but I can't regret anything - good or bad - that ended up bringing me here.