I know I didn’t just wake up this morning and realize that I am not where I would like to be in my life. But my real question is “how did I get here?” How did I get to the point where I sit at home on Friday evenings and drink a half bottle of semi-cheap Zinfandel (at least its not White Zin, I guess), watching PBS and talking to my mom for an hour and a half on the phone. It didn’t used to be like this and, yet, this seems to be all that I can remember. It’s kinda like those Choose Your Own Adventure books when you were young (when some of us were young, I suppose). Somewhere along the line I choose to go through the door as opposed to staying in the room to look for more clues. Not that I want to go back into that room…it wouldn’t be the same room because time has marched on. Plus, remember in Back to the Future Pt. II when he tried to go back and change the past but it was the alternate past so then things got even more complicated. But I digress…it’s not so much a feeling of regret, but a feeling of “how the hell did I get here?” I am in Ohio after all.
Comments
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Fantastic post, Lingo.
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Lingo,
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve asked that question or had friends and family struggling with that question. Over the years I’ve come to realize that “how the hell did I get here?” is mostly unimportant. The real question is “Now that I’m here what am I going to do and where am I going to take myself?”
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The bitter bug of existentialism bites us every now and then, spurring us on to bigger and better bounties.
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I feel for you Lingo. I’m in Ohio too. Only for me it’s Friday evenings with Bud Light, Discovery channel and I talk to my cats. Do me a favor? Shoot Me!
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I know how you feel, except for being able to speak to my mom on the phone. She passed and I just don’t get to do that.
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