Driving Question

The wife and I like to take long drives and engage in meandering conversations which often tend toward the philosophical.  Last time around, she asked what I would do if I could go back and change my life.

I thought about it, and I wouldn’t change much.  My life is good.  I’ve got a great family, good friends, a nice place to live, and I make tolerable money doing something I enjoy.  The health stuff isn’t too bad most days, and I’ve got enough free time to indulge my hobbies and projects.  I've made plenty of mistakes, but I wouldn’t want to risk having things too different then they are now.

If I’d been more serious in my teens and 20’s, I probably would’ve made more money sooner.  But I probably wouldn’t have met my wife, and that would suck.  If I had pursued music more tenaciously, or had tried harder to sell my writing, then likewise no uberwife and probably even more self destructive behavior.

I regret not being a better person, particularly in my teens and 20’s.  I could have gotten where I wanted to go without all the Jack Daniels.  I should’ve been more careful in my relationships, and less selfish. I’ve decided that my life is better when I’m more moderate, when I’m less narcissistic, pretentious, unedited, when I consider my decisions and am less capricious.

At least, that’s how I see things most days these days.

Other days, Fuck that.

I am my excesses.  I am better, truer, more interesting, when I lead an angry, unconsidered life.  Narcissism is the better path for me since --lets face it -- there is a lot to love. And you discover all sorts of shit about yourself after splitting a fifth with a redhead whose name you can’t quite recall.  Besides, being drunk and chasing women was FUN!  Being loud was FUN! Breaking stuff was FUN!  Loudly breaking stuff with unchaste women is FUN FUN FUN!

At least as I recall it.  Truthfully, it’s been quite a while. (15years at least :)

In a more honest assessment of my younger years, most of my adventures sucked either in part or in whole.  For every good story, there are three bad ones.  I wasn’t drinking so much because I was happy.  The chase was more desperation then celebration, and the narcissism wasn’t at all sincere.

So most days, the boy I used to be has very little say in the internal conversation.   

He’s still there to offer his opinion once in a while, but most of the time I’ll tell him to shut up.

This quiet life is better:  My wife is downstairs jogging on the treadmill, singing along to the Bangles (she doesn’t know I can hear).  Our nearly teenage son is still asleep.  I have a busy day planned of watching political TV, reviewing investments and making firewood of a tree that fell deep in the forest.

Maybe I’ll invite the angry me out to help work the chainsaw.