I Have a Dream
today, waiting for MUNI, i decide to keep waiting.
the train pulls up and it's already packed, but people just shoehorn themselves in further. sucking in their fat american bellies and weasling into the car. tucking their butts in so the doors can close. mashing their faces up against the very sanitary plexiglass.
i watch the train leave, pleased with my decision to be five minutes later to work.
then i remember the bus in laos
i was on this bus once, from Vientianne to Pakxan. i think it was an eight hour journey. by the time the bus left the station it was so crowded i had one finger on the rail, one toe on the ground, and a piece of butt cheek leaning up against a seat back. i didn't fall 'cause there was nowhere to fall. packed! the bus stopped approximately every twenty-five yards to pick up a dude with a 50lb bag of rice or to let someone with eight kids climb off the roof.
every so often, two or three girls would get onto the bus carrying big red tubs full of ice and soda in bags tied up with rubber bands. they'd get on at the front and CLIMB their way over the passengers to the back, selling their sody pop.
and remembering this, and seeing the MUNI train, i have a thought:
the american dream is not for me.
i'm not sure why those two events conspired to evoke that thought, but they did. i'd like to have a comfortable life. and i'd like to have kids and health care. and i like cool toys and going to the movies and eating ice cream with choco-chips, but there has got to be a better way.
my friend cap'n steve decided to be a dive videographer. he bought himself some top of the line gear with his savings and just up and moved to Mozambique to make it work. i don't think he has a roth-IRA or a porsche, but he sure sounds happy.
i'm fairly certain i can find myself a good job that i don't hate and save money and buy a house and (insert vomit noises here). i just can't in good conscience swear that i want that. i'd much rather be living my own dream.
maybe that will change, but today, i'm thinking about cramming back onto that bus in laos.
i know brits and kiwis and aussies who travel their whole lives. they stop home for half a year or so to rack up some bread and then they're out the door again.
it could just be my mood today. or maybe i'm just coming to terms with the fact that i'm never going to be a work-a-day type of guy. that i never want to be that kind of guy.
matt just left for brasil. he isn't planning on coming back.
i think i need to start dreaming again. just not about how i'm going to afford a morgage. i'm going to start dreaming about building my own place on a beach somewhere far away, hanging my hammock, mixing up some tequila sunrises, and bringing one out to madhavi. she's wearing a bikini and watching the sunset as the surf curls around her calves.
we'll have a guest room. contribute now and i'll name it after you. right after i get done sailing to the marquesas.
(if you're inspired to write some comment about reality, the benefits of job security, or something including the phrase "when you're older," let me encourage you to lick farm animals instead.)
hear, hear! i'm not an american-dream gal myself. i have no roth and i don't care. i will admit, though, that OTHER people caring does get to me every once in a while. so lets get a consortium together and carploo to costa rica and open a strawberry farm. or something.
hear hear to what monique said about other peoples' worries rubbing off every once in a while. often i become aware of the fact that i've been thinking thoughts about mortgages etc. without consciously electing to do so. this american dream crap is treacherously insidious. down with that dream! long live (organic) strawberry farms in costa rica!
yeah. except the part about the bikini. fuck bikinis.
Live your dream, dude. If the pre-packaged dream of a mortgage ain't working out for you, strike out your own path.
But you know that. You're a "strike your own path" sort of guy.
The question that's rolling around my head is "once you're in the beach house with the tequila, then what?" Sitting on the hammock for the rest of your days? Writing the great American novel? Hosting Gatsby-esque beach parties for all your friends?
When I think to myself "what am I called to do on this earth before I die?" it involves giving of myself, and serving, and making this world a better place. Having the beach house is great for recharging, but I'd need more.
But that's my path. You'll find yours. Rock on, XZ.
my suspicion would be that after a few months on the beach, anyone would find a similar complement of things to complain about as we have here.
an interesting question comes up in my mind though, are we trying to escape from the messy world that we're stuck in with our dreams? living like flotsam without cares? maybe the issue isn't the lifestyle but it's the cares and those will show up spontaneously wherever we are.