In seventh grade, my teacher had us do this assignment where we pictured ourselves in the future and wrote down what we saw. Essentially, a goal-setting sheet for pre-teens. We received four prompts:

“In one year, I picture myself…”
“In ten years, I picture myself…”
“In fifteen years, I picture myself…”
“In twenty years, I picture myself…”

Remember, I’m twelve.

Outside of the traditional middle school yearnings for a jock such as myself - like playing soccer and basketball - I also wanted to act, model, scooter, bike, watch TV, and party. I was super concerned about the color of my snowboard (all different shades of blue, by the way) in addition to having a stereo with speakers all around my room, my own refrigerator, 15 pairs of shoes, a pool, and a go-kart.

By 22-years-old, I was going to be an actress (I was also going to be an aunt, and I took the liberty to name my brother’s child). I was going to invest all my time trying to win awards and going to award shows. I would now own two go-karts, a three-bedroom house in Beverly Hills, a blue and silver Ferrari (with leather interior and 19-inch wheels), a green VW Beetle, a trampoline, a roller coaster, and an indoor/outdoor pool. Oh, and a maid. I’d also have a maid.

Remember, I’m twelve.

By 27-years-old, I predicted I’d have graduated from NYU. Of course, I’m still acting. Apparently I got rid of my maid because I’m now doing housework (on top of exercising, partying, and going to auditions). My goal: three Grammy’s. I have more houses (one now in San Diego), more cars (one “comfortable” Honda and a red “low-rider” Ferrari), and a big canoe (don’t ask).

By 32-years-old, my 12-year-old self decided that I’d still be acting, and I’d also be married. His name would be Jayson (sorry, Teddy) and we’d have one child with another on the way. I’m no longer partying; instead, I’m doing “my parts as a mother and wife.” I have more cars, more houses, more go-karts, more roller coasters, more pools, and my canoe has been upgraded to two boats.

Return to present day. I’m almost 32. I don’t have any Ferraris. In fact, Teddy and I downgraded to one car a few months ago. I don’t own one house, let alone many. I am for sure lacking in the go-kart department, and I never spent my real-life twenties ever wishing that I had a Grammy.

What now makes me uncomfortable about this activity is my desire to own an obscene amount of stuff. Not once do I list things about my character or relationships (other than the standard marriage and motherhood stuff). Yes, I wrote about my career accomplishments, but they’re centered on the cliches for famous people.

Hey, Tara, your privilege is showing.

While I look back and laugh on these notes (because, yes, I claimed to own a castle), it also brings me a little tinge of sadness. My daily activities change in my vision for my 30-something self as I go from partying to performing my stereotypical female duties.

It’s hard to not read my own language and feel a little disappointed in pre-teen Tara. Or, bigger picture, disappointed by the society that was trying so hard to shape her. To no fault of any one specific thing, but rather the culmination of everything that weighs down so heavily upon all little girls.

Wear short shorts. But not too short, or they’ll call you derogatory names. But, definitely not too long, or you’ll be boring.

Wear a size small. Better yet, an extra small. But not TOO small because then the world will say you have issues. But better too small than too big. And “too big” is definitely anything bigger than a small.

Push up your boobs (buy new ones if they’re not big enough).

Wax your eyebrows.

Break glass ceilings.

But never forget that you were designed to mother, so do that first.

Here’s the thing. The present version of me doesn’t even know if I want to have kids. But 12-year-old me definitely thought that was the socially acceptable answer (of course she did because it’s 2020, and I still have to justify that choice).

Was someone telling me there’s another way? Did any famous figure exist to make me question these answers? And, if she did, was she ostracized by society?

Did a single person read my life goals and think he or she should say something? Was anyone invested in coaching me to question my seeming obsession with materialism? Did someone want to challenge my investment in the norm?

I’ve done a lot of internal work to arrive where I am. Now. With one car and a rented house and a fruitful, independently-created career and a boyfriend who I love so very much. It looks nothing like my 12-year-old self imagined, and that’s the best part, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

In 2020, we elected the first female Vice President. I don’t know if 90’s Tara would have believed you if you predicted such a thing. I don’t know that 90’s Tara would even have cared (because #hollywood).

But 2020 Tara? She cares. A lot.

My commitment here is to be that someone. The person telling and showing little girls that there’s another way. That there’s a million ways. That they can be absolutely anything they want to be. And it makes no difference their short length, or body size, or eyebrow shape.

Because if enough of us rise up, we can change the world.

There's Another Way