I’d have loved to live a thousand lives. When I was young I was anxious, and although I may be less so now, I still feel compelled to “go to work” on things, mentally, especially new environments. The urge to pick things apart, perhaps, from the need to spend energy cultivated in worry– but I never aspired to be a cynic, despite how humorous. Instead, I think I pick things apart for value and appreciation. Most things can be appreciated with the right perspective, so tossing a few at one object usually turns up something worth celebrating- and when it doesn’t, the rare purity of such a wicked environment can have value in its darkness.
Young people have been confounding me lately, sending me into fits of nostalgia and envy. I like to think of people as entire entities- spirits navigating a body from birth to death- regardless of current role in life. When I see old folks I like to think of the young folks they were, replete with vitality and foolishness. I think of the young adults flying through life hand in hand without a care for the future as old and satiated after I’m long gone. It’s the young 20-something families, especially the religious ones- Amish, in particular. I am incompatible with the religious but cannot escape a jealousy for their ease of purpose. What a life I could have built if I started that early instead of spinning through space pursuing my own ends.
I suppose I wouldn’t have my current partner if that were the case, and at the end of the day my appreciation for that would place me directly where I am if I had to pick only one life to be. But if I could, I would love to have lived a thousand more.