Shaving off my dreads while spraying the crops

When I moved to Bloomington, I met a new breed of people.  These people, most commonly known as hippies, opened up a whole new world of limited bathing, soap crafts, illegal train trestle hiking, baking with whole wheat flour, and public breast-feeding.  In my heart, I desired to be like these free birds.  When one lives in Bloomington as long as I had, you start believing that the townies can change you into a hippie with their special mind powers.  But as hard as I tried to be something I'm not, it is just too easy to be me.  You can dress me down in a moo-moo, hand me a stick of all-natural mango-scented deodorant, and pierce me with a nose-ring, but at the end of the day I'm still going to go mall-walking, put too many layers of clothes on my son, and eat non-organic food.  Yes, sadly it is true: I am from the suburbs.   
My first epiphany that I indeed could not escape my suburban heritage came about through a baby shower gift I received from my hippie friends from Bloomington.  Yes, I registered for the gift because I thought I could handle being a hippie, but boy was I wrong.  All of my suburbanite friends would laugh as I would struggle to wrap this piece of clothe around my body to become a mommy kangaroo.  I didn't want to register for the more expensive, more diva-esque BABYBJÖRN Baby Carrier Synergy - Black because I thought I was too non-conformist for that carrier.  Now I realize, I'm not a beatnik and I need expensive items because I am actually a diva.  In hindsight, the fact that I even spent time creating a registry at Babies R' Us should have tipped me off to the fact that I'm not a hippie.
My second epiphany occurred when I had this hankering to learn how to play acoustic guitar.  I thought to myself, I'm a musician and I like female acoustic guitar-chic music, so I should have my husband teach me how to play.  That desire lasted about five minutes until my delicate porcelain fingertips started to throb from pressing down onto the strings.  I am from the suburbs and I do not tolerate pain.  Can someone please pass me an epidural?   

My final revelation came about through a ferocious desire to grow a vegetable garden at our new house (picture is of our glorious back yard).  I would day dream about my grand garden overflowing with sweet potatoes and cucumbers.  Once the time came to prepare the land, my husband and I went to the local garden shop to ask questions and get the correct kind of nutrients for the soil.  The season for planting had not yet arrived, but it was a nice enough day to start the ground work.  So when we returned to our home, we began the work immediately.  As I sunk the shovel into the ground, my ferocity quickly turned into feebleness.  I realized that I never had a day dream about dirt, and sweating, and sore backs, and...ew! worms.  Didn't they get the memo?  Bugs are prohibited in the suburbs.  That's why I moved back.  I heart pesticides. 
After years of grasping at the unattainable, I can finally admit to myself that this aspect of myself is never going to change and I should celebrate all the suburban inside of me.  This is who I am and I'm here to stay.  I'm a suburbanite, hear me roar!
 God loves us for who we are.  While He certainly expects us to change our sinful ways once we have been saved by grace, we are made in His image and should celebrate who God has designed us to be.  Do you ever try to be something you're not?  Do you ever have unrealistic expectations of whom you would like to become?  Let me hear about your story.