The present

(Cool, overcast—mid 30s)

I spent a lot of time today thinking about the future, as contrasted with the life I’m leading here. Wow, that sounds like I’m talking about the afterlife or something—what I actually mean is, what I’m doing these few months, versus what I hope to do be doing next year. I guess it’s dawning on me that I’m not eager to be done with these sorts of jobs; I want nothing more than to be outside, and here I am! Since I was in high school I’ve dreamt of having a job that paid me to live and work in the woods. What more could I ask for? I walked down to the beach during my lunch break today, and the river had gone down, but the beach was largely quicksand, which made for an exciting visit. Every single day I have the chance to go down to the river and look for otters. Every day I can walk out of my house and be at work. Every night I go to sleep in a still, dark place, next to a dwindling fire. Why could I possibly want to move on?



Call me crazy, but I think it has to do with the fact that I spent the afternoon ladling toilets again. To do this effectively, you have to be on your knees, right in front of the porcelain, and you have to dip this stupid little ladle in there about five billion times, and despite this work—which is actually kind of hard on your back, believe it or not—there’s still a little puddle when you’re done.

And yet I think the ladling isn’t even the reason for moving on. Yeah, it’s tedious, and kind of miserable, but so are a lot of jobs. There’s even something satisfying about it, because it’s physical work, work that is done when it’s done. I’m not bringing my work home, and I’m not unendingly frustrated by it. What it is, more than the ladling, is a need for stability. I don’t mean that in the suburban sense; please don’t accuse me of wanting a minivan; I mean I want some sense of a sustainable future. I love love love this job, but can I do it for ten years? Ten years of getting a new job every three months, and just barely exceeding the minimum wage? Yeah, maybe I could. Do I want to? That’s what I don’t know. And what about twenty years? Thirty?

With the clarity provided by a new paragraph, I can say this: No. I don’t want to work ten years at minimum wage and have to move every three months.

What I don’t get is this: Why do we all have to give up the things we want, sometimes even the things we love most, when we grow up? Maybe we don’t. Maybe these things come in time, and you have to see your life’s possibilities as unpredictable. Maybe whatever career I end up with will allow me to live in the woods, and travel a lot, too. It seems like if you love something, you should stick with it—but, then, maybe you should quit before you stop loving it. Maybe that’s the difference between fond memories and bitterness. It’s all a lot to consider.