If I don’t know by now, just over the cusp of Year 48, will I ever figure out what I’ll be when I grow up?
Yes, Arkansawyer, that DOES assume I’ll grow up. Got a problem with that?!
And, no, none of your so-called ‘evidence’ is admissible in the blogosphere.
Reminds me of a tune, ‘Open Hearts and Doors,’ by Antigone Rising. I know where my heart wants to run but those doors , for good reason, are closed. Dreamers like me ought not be let out of the Pay the Bills corral without strict adult supervision. Though I’m usually right [editorial pause to curse the bumpy road – I might get bruised fingertips when they ricochet off the keypad], I don’t brag or let it affect my glass-half-full outlook.
[sigh] Arkansawyer, can you please stop snickering? You’re starting to bother me.
Remember the Man Code – we always can brag about big things…
And we never admit that one’s beloved, adorable and truly brilliant spouse is less than 100% right, eh? Especially as involves career decisions or flighty plans to set up house on some wind-strewn barren Montana ranch and watch the clouds skim by. D**n, that sounds kinda cool-i-o right now, this being Wednesday.
If you have Lasagna Night or Taco Tuesday, well, Lee and I have Wicked Wednesdays. If you’ve ever read Where the Wild Things Are, picture Lee and I man-prancing through the dreamscape of what is and what should never be. Why grow up when we can plan, change, convolute, dramatize and demolish several air guitar competition solo-worthy dream trips/homes/tree forts/business models over a glass of wine each week? Emotional adolescence in two guys over 45 is such an underappreciated and truly sad spectacular waste of potential but such d***ned fun!!
I wonder. Do you? Why not? When Lee and I awaken on the shoreline of Moosehead Lake, in the central highlands of Maine, and cast off in our kayaks, what flavor will the emotions of adventure be? My heart is there but is that door open?
I wonder. And dream…