|"Hope I don't have to sit near some weirdo on the bus..."|
I'm feeling philosophical lately, for a variety of reasons I won't bore or depress you with, Dear Reader. I don't mean Wittgenstien- or Socrates-Philosophical, mind you. Heavens, no. No, no. To quote another sage, “Ain't nobody got time fo' that.”
I could right now wax poetic about life's stages and the magic of each, the embracing of life in all its variety, the embracing of that one endlessly charming constant known as 'change'. But I'm not going to. At this stage of life, I find waxing painful, frankly, and over the years I think I've managed to exhaust myself by taking the poetic waxing to [ahem] Brazilian levels. I'm simply pondering today what I want for myself, in full awareness that, on the whole, I don't want for much. All I can come up with in the What-I-Want category are some pretty general ideas:
- I want to finish my book and have it published. Then,
- I want to write another one and have it published.
- Lather, rinse, repeat.
I recall, once upon a time, a wise friend saying that, even if you don't know what you want, it can be useful to know what you don't want. In the spirit of growth and greater self-awareness, I offer this list of Things-I'm-Sure-I-Do-Not-Want:
- I do not want to wear a beard of bees.
- I do not want to be buried up to my neck in sand, no matter how much it may delight the children.
- I do not want to eat tripe for dinner . . . or any other meal . . . ever.
Mmmmm . . . cow stomachs!
- I do not want to share my indoor living space with a dog, cat, or any other furred creature, though outdoor living space is negotiable, especially if one belongs to the following groups: Ailurus fulgens, Equus ferus caballus, or Ovis aries.
- I do not want to continually retreat to my home, my sanctuary, only to hear outside the blare of car stereos, car alarms, or the loud and loony rantings of those who feel the need to walk my street, arguing on their cellphones (on speakerphone no less), even if they are entirely correct in their assessment that the person on the other end of said phone call is not, in fact, “all that”, and is, in fact, “a lyin' ass muh-fukkah . . .seriously, Yo”. About this subject I, too, am serious (Yo). Allow me to interject emphatically here, People of Earth, that the world is not, in fact, your living room.
"You lyin'-ass...oh, hold on. Gotta take another call..."
- I do not, despite assurances from the advertising industry that all things foreign will render me instantly chic, wish to avail myself of trendy imports such as horsemeat lasagne or the virus that causes SARS. But maybe that's just me.
- I do not want to “join the discussion”, “tell 'us' what [I] think”, “comment”, “Tweet”, “update status”, or tell 'them' “how [I'm] feeling” if the subject is (including, but not limited to) guns, politics, Hollywood, Kimye-Westdashian-whatever-the-frig, football, religion, vaccines, the-benefits-of-meat, the-benefits-of-vegetables, the-evils-of-Twinkies (or any other deeply neurotic hyper-concerns and insufferable moral outrage about what other people choose to put in their mouths and bodies), the economy, the Eurozone (except for its wide variety of Delicious Foods), Wall Street, robots, zombies, vampires (even if they're sexy), cyber-warfare/hacking, nationalism, marriage-is-for-breeders-only, conspiracy theories (except for the ones that are really happening, like for real, seriously, Yo), poor struggling doctors who can't make ends meet, Obama somehow managing to be a socialist-communist-fascist all at the same time, or how you're a Buddhist because you read a great book about Tantric sex, just like Sting, and went to a yoga retreat. I've probably left a few things out. For the time being, I'm pretty much reserving my comments and emotional energy for two subjects: Red Pandas and Delicious Food. Okay, three subjects. I just thought of a third: how much I think the Pulitzer committee needs to have their heads examined. But just those three.*
"I wonder what Sting's doing right now . . . "
- I do not want to feel chained to a blog in the name of acquiring “followers” (though I deeply appreciate them), or end up a shameless and constant self-promoter.
- Did I mention the beard of bees?
- I do not want to “share my location”. I like elbow room, both real and virtual.
- I do not want to take a moment to fill out your survey (unless, as noted, it's about precisely how awesome Red Pandas and Delicious Food really are).
- I do not want to have to clean the pizzelle iron (after making Delicious Cookies).
- I do not want to keep having that weird dream. You know the one, and don't pretend like you don't.
- I do not want to keep talking about what I don't want, as I felt a satisfying catharsis round about number 7.
So there it is. I may not know a lot of specifics about what I want, but my friend was right—sometimes knowing what you don't want can be really helpful . . . in avoiding writing the difficult chapter that will bring you closer to what you do want.
Back to the book. Thanks for indulging me. Would you like to share your feelings? Comment? Tell “us” how you feel? Tell me what you don't want.