I often spend time wondering or fantasizing about what I would do if I had another life to live. I waver between on the one hand really applying myself and being something great like a surgeon, or an artist, or some other brilliant and hardworking genius, and on the other hand I wouldn’t mind going a very different, non-traditional path like being a bike messenger, or a barista, or an intentional homeless wanderer. Any of these latter options sounds appealing because I wouldn’t be a part of the rat race. I wouldn’t be responsible for other people’s success. And I wouldn’t have had to go to college and try to make life-impacting choices at the age of 17. How the hell is a 17-year old supposed to know what she or he wants to for the rest of life? So before we are old enough and responsible enough to even join the military, let alone drink a beer, we are expected to decide who we will become and what our vocation will be. It makes zero sense. As for me, I love what I am doing, but I wish I could do a million other things.
I have also spent time considering a career as a long-haul trucker, but I am not sure that I could deal withe being away from Becs for that long at a time. I have a friend from high school who posted this as his status: “i’ve come to realize the only time i am truely happy when i’m not with my kids is when 18 wheels are singing their song as miles roll by.” I envy him for his freedom on the road. I want to hear the wheels sing on the road, and to feel the wind on my face as the miles tick by. This is probably why I prefer to ride my motorcycle or drive when I go on vacation. I love to watch the road pass by and know that I am headed somewhere. It doesn’t really matter if the road is leading me away from home or back. Either way, I know I am headed somewhere, instead of sitting still.
I don’t envy him the feeling of being sad when he’s away from his kids, as he’s posted in multiple other posts. But I do envy the fact that he has children. Multiple times in the past few weeks, I have found myself either dreaming or fantasizing about having children, or a child. I’d be a good mom, Bec has already been a good mom, and together we’d make excellent moms. Why can’t my health insurance pay for artificial insemination? Why can’t I just swallow my pride and use a turkey baster? I have multiple people who’d be willing donors if I could just pay for the service. I could adopt, but I can’t afford that either, which is way more criminal. There are so many kids who could use healthy and stable homes. Why does it have to cost so fucking much to get a child? Oh, well.