Mother Duck

For roughly two and a half decades, every major decision has been treated as another step in the formula to whatever a "happily ever after" is supposed to be. No, not princes and sunsets and more children than the Earth could sustain, but rather this mysterious summit that will somehow justify the trek. School? Check. College? Check. Graduate school? Check. Job? Working on it. As I pitched flags at each milestone, it seemed like the ultimate goal was slowly coming within reach.

What I've discovered, however, is that what I'm actually trying for is life, in all its glossy glory. In the middle of a bar tonight, I came to the oddly-timed realization that life isn't something that comes later; life is what I am experiencing now. Surrounded by drums and cymbals and a heavy bass beat; drunken college seniors and the older men and women preying upon them; and more bare skin than a physician might see in a day,  the thought was a sobering one. No wonder we fashion shiny versions of what our futures will be, convincing ourselves that something better is coming. Without something more meaningful to hope for, strive for, the mundaneness of the present is suffocating.

Perhaps this explains my love of novels, plays, and fan fiction. For those precious hours, I can immerse myself in lives infinitely more fulfilling than my own, if only because these characters are saving the world, protecting the downtrodden, or discovering the importance of being earnest. They are not nearly as obsessed with getting all of their ducks in a row before striking out for the pond. Instead, they waddle to the water and jump in, buoyed by their faith that the others can and will take care of themselves. Therein lies their success at richly hued existences, imaginary though they may be.

For now, I will try to reconcile myself to the fact that there is no perfect future coming. No castles, nor picket fences, but rather more of my current experience. I think I'll go find myself a book now...