The Road Almost Traveled
Nearly seven years ago, Dr. Sweetheart was pressed against my back, dropping kisses on my neck. I had a choice. I could turn my head and let him kiss me, or I could climb off of his bed and sleep on his couch. I was torn: should I kiss my best friend and chance ruining the wonderful connection we had, or should I let the most wonderful man I knew kiss me? I still remember listening to my heart beat thrumming steadily in the warm dark as I mulled it over. A few minutes later, I turned my head, and we kissed. Years later, I'm sitting here in the house I share with him with our pet cat and our mutual understanding of the grocery list and our framed photos, and I wonder what my life would be like had I refused that first kiss. Where would I live? What would I be doing? Would I be happy? Happier?
Amtrak is cheap enough that I could live anywhere in the U.S. I could hop a train and find a job in Denver, Detroit, or Milwaukee. I could test the east coast, landing in New York like countless other want-to-be-greats. Sometimes I think back to the big pivotal choices I've made. What if I'd gone into nursing, or continued working at the home for seniors, or become a school teacher, or gone to volunteer my early twenties away in a disaster zone? Maybe I'd be thin and tan and multilingual, a savvy, sophisticated denizen of planet Earth, admired by all who saw me.
The problem with living on our richly nuanced and immensely detailed planet is that there are so many potential life tracks laid out before us. If you live in a country where you're provided clean water, plentiful food, and public education, you have an oyster for a world. If you're at all like me, you find yourself stunned by the enormous array of possibilities out there. The problem is that often we find where our affinities lie after we've made lots of choices and committed to a lot of obligations. We learn that we like to go fishing, that we enjoy spending time with square dancers, that we love the redwood forests, and that we have a head for numbers--but we live in the desert and play bridge every Thursday -- when our job at the library isn't running overtime. The trick is to strike a balance between responsibly and fairly treating the people in your life and dashing off to follow your bliss with all the organic focused energy you can muster. I'd be lying if I said that my devoted, rich, loving relationship with Dr. Sweetheart doesn't prevent me from running off to parts unknown (for years at a time) to explore, explore, explore, see, see, see!
I think, though, that a life can be lived fully even though we find ourselves choosing a course. I'm sure that I can take Dr. Sweetheart with me on some trips (more kissing!), and strike out on my own on others. We can communicate this stuff out and come up with plans that honor our need to be together and our need to do things on our own. I think that the thoughts I have that yearn for the road I almost traveled can point me to things I want to do in my future; I can weave in more important, affirming, inspiring life journeys to blend with the ones I've already taken.
After all, I've done a pretty good job so far. I've made a big hash out of a lot of things, but I've ended up with some truly wonderful results. Imagine how fabulous my life would be if I planned it with an eye toward what really makes me happy? So I say this: examine the roads you almost traveled. See what you truly wish you had done. Ask yourself if you'd still like to try that. See what you'd like to thread into your existing life. Make plans that are born outside of the impulse of spontaneity (although that's good too); instead make plans based on the deepest desires of your heart. Think out your life with more intention, and see what the road ahead of you looks like when you're done. It's worth it.
Amtrak is cheap enough that I could live anywhere in the U.S. I could hop a train and find a job in Denver, Detroit, or Milwaukee. I could test the east coast, landing in New York like countless other want-to-be-greats. Sometimes I think back to the big pivotal choices I've made. What if I'd gone into nursing, or continued working at the home for seniors, or become a school teacher, or gone to volunteer my early twenties away in a disaster zone? Maybe I'd be thin and tan and multilingual, a savvy, sophisticated denizen of planet Earth, admired by all who saw me.
The problem with living on our richly nuanced and immensely detailed planet is that there are so many potential life tracks laid out before us. If you live in a country where you're provided clean water, plentiful food, and public education, you have an oyster for a world. If you're at all like me, you find yourself stunned by the enormous array of possibilities out there. The problem is that often we find where our affinities lie after we've made lots of choices and committed to a lot of obligations. We learn that we like to go fishing, that we enjoy spending time with square dancers, that we love the redwood forests, and that we have a head for numbers--but we live in the desert and play bridge every Thursday -- when our job at the library isn't running overtime. The trick is to strike a balance between responsibly and fairly treating the people in your life and dashing off to follow your bliss with all the organic focused energy you can muster. I'd be lying if I said that my devoted, rich, loving relationship with Dr. Sweetheart doesn't prevent me from running off to parts unknown (for years at a time) to explore, explore, explore, see, see, see!
I think, though, that a life can be lived fully even though we find ourselves choosing a course. I'm sure that I can take Dr. Sweetheart with me on some trips (more kissing!), and strike out on my own on others. We can communicate this stuff out and come up with plans that honor our need to be together and our need to do things on our own. I think that the thoughts I have that yearn for the road I almost traveled can point me to things I want to do in my future; I can weave in more important, affirming, inspiring life journeys to blend with the ones I've already taken.
After all, I've done a pretty good job so far. I've made a big hash out of a lot of things, but I've ended up with some truly wonderful results. Imagine how fabulous my life would be if I planned it with an eye toward what really makes me happy? So I say this: examine the roads you almost traveled. See what you truly wish you had done. Ask yourself if you'd still like to try that. See what you'd like to thread into your existing life. Make plans that are born outside of the impulse of spontaneity (although that's good too); instead make plans based on the deepest desires of your heart. Think out your life with more intention, and see what the road ahead of you looks like when you're done. It's worth it.