I find myself wishing I could posses a few luxuries in life. Here is what I imagine myself owning in the future:
First, I would like a saltshaker. No more pinching sea salt from the palm of my hand. No longer will I accidently douse my eggs with one, over ambitious shake. I will own a saltshaker, and be content.
Second, I would like an icemaker. No more cracking ice that isn’t yet frozen. No longer will I spill half a gallon of water in the freezer because of one clumsy move. I will own an icemaker, and be content.
Third, I would like counter space. No more making my meals, squished within the confines of a microwave and a dish rack. No longer will eggs roll to their untimely death because room was limited. I will have counter space, and be content.
Fourth, I would like central AC (I know – I’m getting greedy). No more fans blowing sweaty pieces of hair from my forehead. No longer will I toss and turn in the stuffy and constricting night air. I will have central AC, and be content.
Fifth, I would like a job with benefits; an expanding saving’s account, a maid to put away my piles of laundry… and a puppy. A fat, fluffy puppy.
If I had these things, I would be content.
Except, I wouldn’t.
If I had these things, I would not be content.
If I had a job with benefits and a savings account, the thrill of living through my early 20's in New York would quickly diminish. If I had a puppy, I would be relentlessly tied down and begrudge responsibility.
If I had central AC, counter space, or an icemaker, I would be paying more rent and completely oblivious to the fact that premade ice is actually something you can take for granted. But if I had a saltshaker? Well, I’ve gone so long without one that I probably
wouldn’t think to use it.
I will not be content because of these things.
I do not ever want to be content because of these things.
These are things. These are THINGS. These ARE THINGS.
I want to be content because I tasted every flavor of ice cream,
Because I rode the subway line in its entirety,
Because I found 25 cents and it meant something.
I want to be content because of the way New York
smells some mornings,
Like bread and coffee; like summer and steel.
I want to be content because I walked through a bookstore as though the novels were my friends,
And they whispered to me their endings,
Quiet and excited; you can hear them speak.
I want to be hopelessly unsatisfied so that there is always, always something to look forward to -- except in those blissful moments when I am peaceful.
Because I’m just living, and breathing, and being.
[Editor’s Note: You may have realized that I did not contradict the maid I would like to have for my laundry. That’s because I really would like one… no, but like really.]