-The Fiery Furances
So we are back to this. My daughter has only been alive for a fortnight, and I can finally stay awake long enough to be plunged into an existential crisis and be found at midnight listening to nonsensical indie music and drinking a cheap scotch (Jura, which is probably the best value in Scotch I've ever found, kinda an Islay-lite for like $30 a bottle) because I wanted to save the good stuff once I got a taste for it again.
Wasn't I just here? I guess. But this feels different. All of that waiting, biding, pining is over. Everything that I've ever wanted I somehow, inexplicably have. A wife, a daughter, a job where I make way more than I ever deserve... and yet, predictably, I'm at a loss as to what to do next. I have 6 weeks off, which is beautiful, really, but has the unnerving side-effect of reminding me that this luxury is temporary, and is in exchange for not seeing my daughter this much for the rest of her life. And so I think about this and it gets worse because I can't devote all of my attention to her as I feel I should, and allow myself to get distracted by stupid stupid things, about which I will proceed to elaborate.
I made a list of all of the stupid, senseless, wonderful material things I would need to be happy (excluding house, furnishings for said house, student loans, retirement, clothes, kitchen) and I got up to about $40k. I got to this by breaking down my desires into a handful of hobbies, namely: book-collecting, photography, backpacking, drinking, media, bicycling, travel. And these are just relatively big-ticket items. I know that there are millions of tiny accessories for accessories that I haven't yet considered.
But who do I want to be? I started reading a diatribe written by some bike enthusiast/retailer. I could probably subscribe to many of those things he says, for the most part. But I don't want that to be my life. Hours and hours and hours? I just want a bike... for what? I don't even know. I want my peace. I want to be able to get from here to there and I want to probably take pictures there and spend the night.
What is this worth, though? Is this worth my soul? What does it even mean to *live*? I don't have the slightest idea. I have a vision, nothing more. A vain vision, a selfish one. I wake up, make an espresso, ride for 60 miles, hike past a waterfall to a campsite and spend the night. I'll take pictures and make it back into town the next day. But could I even do that? Do I have the latitude? I don't see my family enough as it is!
Where is my life and what is recreation? Is that something to live for? I have the hardest time at work because I feel the expectation is for that to be my life. I couldn't care less about work, not really. I am there to be there. I am there to get paid more than I deserve. I solve fun problems occasionally, and I'm probably happier there than being bored at home. But I haven't been bored at home in a while, and with a daughter, probably never again. Could I live for this job, or any other? Could I live for the paycheck itself, for the apparent good of my family? Certainly not on the first hand, and while the second was good enough for my grandfather, I, la moyenne bourgeois that I am, will not deign myself to such crassness. For my life must have a purpose! Merely enjoying this time until my eventual and too-soon death is the most horrifying of thoughts.
