On Conquering the World
I can see it as clear as the sunspots on my dirty windshield while headed into dusk. It’s a looming ever-presence and I’m proud to call it my own, the desire for tomorrow. I don’t understand it and I can barely feed it enough today to keep me full on it through the weekend, but it’s there and it’s itchy in my belly like a beer keg full of butterflies with the tap on open.
I want to have lived somewhere that I’m proud to have called my home, to be a part of a community that can grow and have me help in that growth. To know my mailman and my grocer and not just know what my mailman looks like and what’s in stock in my grocer’s freezer.
I want a farm. I want a farmhouse. I want to sell my produce and make cheese and have the people in town tell passersby “Oh, you’ve got to check out the Farm.” I want to watch my lady hustle beers across the bar or show up her yoga students. I want to build a treehouse and some day see it old enough to fall out of that tree.
I want to watch a belly bloom. I want to know what Alaska feels like as an adult. I want to play music on the street with her and a hat in front of us. I want to start a circus and travel Europe on a motorcycle with the people I call my family. I’m finally in a position, with a best friend and lovely lady who can help me make all of that come true. I want Oregon in the morning and New England in the afternoon and I want enough time in between to make a sandwich using nothing but my dirty knife and whatever left over foodstuffs are in the fridge. But most of all, tonight, I want to sleep hard.