Live for a living ...

ďEvery day is one day less,Ē as poet Buddy Wakefield said in his terrific piece, ďHuman the Death Dance,Ē which I urge you to look past the funky title and check out.

With limited time here as fleshy beings, itís important to occupy that time with things weíre passionate about, I suppose. Per the definition, passion is a strong and barely controllable emotion. Now, since I tend to stray from letting emotions get the best of me, Iím going to tread lightly with the term Ė but it fits well here, so Iíll stick with it.

Iím writing this from my back yard, as I attempt to check out the meteor shower currently in progress. Iím either having alright luck, or I need to clean my glasses.

Regardless, itís got me to thinking, and apparently feeling. Feeling like a pretty happy soon-to-be 25 year old. Iíve got my head on semi-straight, and a solid group of folks that are either family or damn close to it.

My closest friends are grown-ups now. Most of them have the whole nine; husband or wife, a kid or two, house, job, 401k and all that jazz. Theyíre happy; Iím happy for them.

That life, though Ö Thatís not for me.

What do I want to do with my time here? When I wake up tomorrow and remember that yesterdayís crossed off and itís a brand new day ... I want adventure.

I want adventure sans diaper changing and bottle sanitizing. I donít want to spend my Saturday searching for the safest car seat or best breast pump. Iím not checking in with the husband to let him know heíll be on his own for dinner because Iím getting lost in the woods Ė but I have to admit I may call him for assistance when I realize I canít find my way home after hours of trying.

I am free and clear to get in the car after work and drive until I run out of gas. Then fill the tank back up. I can meet countless interesting folks along the way and hear stories Iíll never forget.

If by any chance the man who went by ďDouble DĒ from somewhere in Tennessee is reading this, thanks for the watermelon, and for giving out free grilled cheese. Man from Philadelphia begging for change but wearing brand new sneakers Ö thanks for being appreciative of the Mountain Dew I gave you. They were two for three dollars, and yes, one was enough to keep me awake for the drive home; I still remember your hesitance to accept it as you were afraid Iíd get sleepy.

At eighteen I was carefree and full of adventure. I had a car packed full of my closest friends, a few bucks in our pockets, and off weíd go at a momentís notice.

Seven years later Iím elated Iíve still got that spunk.

Now thatís not to say those who opt for families and children donít have terrific, fulfilling lives; Iím not saying that in the least bit. They love what they have and what they do, and have adventures of their own. I just love that I donít have to worry about day care costs right now ... or school registration. When it rains, I go out to play in the puddles by myself Ė I donít need a little tyke to give me a reason to.

Thereís lots Iíd like to see with my limited time here. Iíd like to make an impact in a great number of little ways. One day Iíll own some land Ė seven acres or so Ė and Iíll grow my own food. Maybe Iíll be totally off the grid and self-sustaining. Iíd like to see other countries. Iíd like to see voluntary interactions between individuals take place without repercussions. It would certainly be nice for people to get by without initiating force or violence against one another. Iíd like to see ideas being shared in a manner that is more cohesive to fostering connections, collaborations, and actual change. And I suppose Iíd like to see ďBambi,Ē because I hear itís worth the watch.

Back in the day I thought I wanted to be a defense attorney when I ďgrew up.Ē When we had our mock trial in high school, I realized speaking in front of people wasnít my gig, and spent my time as juror number one instead. If I remember correctly, the verdict was not guilty, but I digress.

Iíve found thatís not the life for me. I still want to jump in the car, scoot down to North Carolina to visit a place Iíve never been just because a near-stranger said itís a beautiful part of the world. I want to pop a coin in an expired meter to spare someone from a ticket based on legislation thatís ridiculous. I want to find secret hidden waterfalls. I want to stop at a coffee shop and throw a couple bucks to the guy playing guitar. I want ice cream twenty minutes before I decide what to make for dinner. If itís an adventure I canít physically make it to I donate as much as I can, and am supporting their adventure in spirit.

ďThe answer,Ē wrote Wakefield, ďThe answer comes in the form of a handwritten letter from the moon. It says, ĎThis is brutally beautiful. So are we. This is endless. So are we. We can heal this. Signed, Craterface. P.S., See me for who I am. Weíve got work to do.íĒ

I donít know. I guess just checking out the sky Ė and that Craterface up there somewhere (although I canít see him from my location) has got me to thinking. I donít dig that whole ďwhite picket fenceĒ sort of life; the wake, work, sleep, nine-to-five thing just to survive isnít where I want to be. Iím going to live for a living.

Iíve grown up, but Iím hardly a grown-up. And I absolutely love it.

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