I’m happy.
Life has arranged itself into what I want it to be; and I feel like I manipulated a good chunk of my life in the right ways these past few years. I must admit, however, I didn’t know I would be here… where ever here is.
I think about death a lot, too. I feel like death is this gift I keep in my pocket to keep my perspective aligned because there is this world outside of myself that pulls on perspective. I’m fortunate that I don’t have to be punctual at work (as long as I get my work done), because it allows me time to bond with my partner… those extra minutes are important. Why should I have to wait to say what I want to say before seeing her again?
I don’t have a lot: I would rather have less than more, and I would rather be homeless and working odd jobs than find myself tethered to the acquizition of things, or be in a position where I could acquire a bunch of things. The thought of homelessness scares the shift out of me, but it also has an appeal… I could be the quintisential dirtbag like Fred Beckey, except it would be in my craft.
And can’t help but think of the misguided dreams fostered by people that have “made-it” as they’re talking to a crowd dreaming of fame and wealth. I think the true success stories are of those that are doing what they want to do. If the fame and wealth overlaps, then that is fine, but I think fame and wealth as a goal is a miserable goal.
I have a happy little life. And though I sit on my chair and think and write, I feel like I have come to understand the language of the birds anyway…
I am me 