The Rebel

That would be me. The rebellious one. No, really. I’ll admit, when I was younger I never would have entertained the thought of making waves or doing something that could possibly a.) Get me in trouble b.) Hurt me c.) Be considered risky. In fact, I was the poster child for compliance and obedience. Oh, there was the smoking incident. But that was about as rebellious as I got. I was a ‘good’ girl. And then I was the ‘good’ wife. Girl Scout leader, PTA Chairperson, CM Consultant, avid scrapbooker, cooker of homemade goodness. Yup, that was me. But that was in another lifetime.
I just came back from a trip down south in which I drove hundreds of miles in one day, spent time with friends, several of whom might be considered ‘on the edge’, and generally made some decisions to do things that might be considered ‘bad girl behavior’. But that behavior makes me feel more alive than I ever felt playing the part of a modern day Donna Reed. Just a few short years ago I would have believed the lie that I was unable to make a trip like that. I would have fallen for someone else’s idea of what was right for me. No more. I’ve made decisions that I’m sure no one else understands. They aren’t always the right ones. I’m just willing to take the consequences if they end up wrong.
I think perhaps my obedience in my past life wasn’t so much due to the fact that I wanted to be good. It had more to do with a fear of the payment for making my own decisions about what was right or wrong. Now I’m not afraid.
Now I’ll pull out the soapbox and make a stand on occasion, without the fear of repercussions. Need an example? I’m paying to take evening classes and get my certificate in Health Claims/Medical Coding and Billing. I’m an adult who appreciates this opportunity to learn. Yet the staff at my school insists on treating us like high school students. We’re stopped at the door if we decide to leave class a bit early. We are questioned if we arrive at school early. So I’ve become quite vocal about how I feel about that. I believe that as an adult paying for this education, if I choose to leave early or miss class, it is my decision. I am the one ultimately responsible for getting any information I miss and getting my work done. The last thing I want or need at my age is to be told to ‘go back to class’. Hell no. The day someone stops me at the door is the day they get an earful. Seriously.
Does that make me a rebel? I suppose it does. And I embrace my inner rebel.