A Hundred Lives

I envy people who have a singular style or lifestyle. Imagine, how awesome your life can be if you can pour all your energy into one singular mission. Alas, it is absolutely impossible for me to even come close to being able to do this. I have the energy and ideas but can only focus in short bursts. I can start something but get bored before I can finish it.

Also, happy are the people who just float along on life, taking all challenges in stride, finding zen in the adventure of it all. How I wish I could be satisfied with where I am, but my happiness target is constantly moving. I want to live a balanced life but what constitutes this balance changes every day, before I can actually attain it.

I love photography. It’s calming. It holds still. I can think of an entire life before and after a photo and doing so takes just enough time. If I tried to write the stories down, I would lose interest around page 85, which has happened with every long story I have ever written. By page 85 the characters’ adventures are over; their life settled and I can’t even find a nice closure. Perhaps I could explore new styles. I just finished Cloud Atlas and the key to being able to get a story together could be segmenting it and winding the overall idea together in bits.

As most bloggers do, I follow a lot of blogs. I read stories about people who’ve sold all their belongings and moved into micro homes and taken up life off the grid. I wonder if I could do this. I think the Husband would like to live away from all the idiots that hamper our daily lives with their ridiculous behavior. To wake up every day with nothing for miles and miles. Maybe working part time in a coffee shop because we don’t need much income. When we go camping we are so peaceful and happy. But I like that everything in my daily life is within 45 minutes walking distance.

I read stories about the Steampunk lifestyle and think, yes! I am going to trade all of my clothing in for Victorian togs and outfit my row house in brass and gears and pipes. I am so tired of modern life anyway. But then there is the 18th century, and the 17th Century. I continually go back to Vermeer and would certainly crawl into a painting if I could.

I could live a hundred lives, and do, in my head, when I see something inspiring. Either good or bad, the entire scenario plays out. Realistically speaking, no one can do this, except maybe actors. Most people find something they like and latch on. For me, by now, I’ve become accustomed to the everyday grind that takes care of the necessities. The energy it takes to suppress the urge to sell everything and move into a yurt/ become a reenactor in Williamsburg/ work in architectural preservation / live off the grid / live on the beach / live in the mountains / move to Quebec / design clothing / open a Etsy shop / etc etc etc / unfortunately takes it toll and some days I feel so old. The curse of age is that you know very well that any of those things comes with an enormous amount of risk. Failure means your family is hungry or homeless or worse. It’s a heavy realization.

Enough brooding about. There is a Christmas tree to decorate!


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