When I was a child, I had no truly definitive idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think I even convinced myself, for all of five minutes, that I wanted to be a firefighter, but most kids do at some point, right? Not that I have anything against firefighters, it’s just not for me. One thing I know for sure is that I loved dinosaurs as a kid and dreamed of a future as a paleontologist or, even better, an archeologist (thank you Indiana Jones).
Throughout middle school, I first dreamed of a life as a professional skateboarder, then a novelist (one dream I still hold onto to this day) and finally, a guitarist and songwriter. The singing part didn’t come until much later, I can assure you that. My voice, up until five or six years ago, was nothing to write home about, trust me.
Now that I’m older (or just plain old, according to some), I find myself in a strange position. I’m not a novelist, but I am a writer, and every once in awhile I dig out the old notes for one of the several books I’ve attempted to write over the years. I am a guitarist and songwriter, and have been for nearly two decades now. And while I still love playing and performing on guitar, I’m certainly not as focused on it as I used to be, which is a good thing. So these days, I’m left asking myself just what it is I’m working toward.
The answer is actually quite simple, especially considering Wednesday marked three years since my father’s passing. I want to be a dad, as I have for a good long while now. The question is, am I really ready for that? Probably not. Does that bother me? At times. When will I be ready? I don’t rightly know.
My problem, and not all the time I might add in my defense, is that I tend to bust myself up over things I really have no control over. It’s impossible for me to say why (glutton for punishment) and to be honest, I don’t see the use. It’s just who I am. I’ve tried to change it over the years and, usually, whenever I do is when I fall flat on my face.
For now, I think I’ll just enjoy what I’ve got, while I’ve got it, and let the future bring what it will. The best part is, when I get home tonight, I can always pull out one of those old, unfinished novels of mine or pick up my trusty Fender Strat. As for the other, I guess I can be patient for now. Do I really have a choice? Of course I don’t, but I can live with that.