I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.
I am always yearning to go on a rant like that when someone asks me what else I would like to do. I already know what I want, just like Lloyd Dobler knows that what he wants is Diane Court. Deal with it. Of course, if I do not get what I want, then deal with the fallout, and trust me when I say it will be ugly. When I flop on my face, or fall into my next brick wall, I am hoping it will stun me into silence, for the sake of any readers.
But we need not concern ourselves with such things today. Today I am having the usual daydreams that come with sunny San Francisco days. On such days, anything feels possible. So, a trip to Spain seems an inevitability.
There is a reason I keep harping on this trip to Spain, which to some probably seems so commonplace that it is banal to even mention. However, in the days of my youth, I did not have the means to do much traveling. When I was very young, times were fairly tight, and my parents saved up so that we could visit family in India every few years. Aside from that, we drove to places where family or close family friends lived- exotic destinations like Michigan, upstate New York, and Winston-Salem, NC. In my college years, tuition was punishing me pretty severely. My inner Guju could not grasp the concept of just shrugging off growing debt. Instead, it gave me ulcers.
When I started working, I still lacked the means. What I made up for in money, I lost in time. The reality of being close to extended family means two weeks of vacation just barely covers appeasing everyone with visits. Especially when I was living on the east coast, a day here or there would be exacted from me as mandatory for keeping myself from being excommunicated. Then again, when I was on the east coast, I was a different person. Back then, I was easily coerced by guilt trips.
But then a funny thing happened. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I did not have the means to travel. I just assumed I would never get to travel much, that I was just one of those people who would never go to particularly interesting places. Having written the possibility off, I came up with some of the worst excuses imaginable: I have no one to go with or I don't have time to plan it or I don't speak the language.
This attitude towards traveling was indicative of my attitude towards life in general in those dark days. But I did break out of it, finally. Underneath the ocean, plates were starting to shift. They did not pick the best time to finally stir: one cold Christmas, I jumped on a train to Montreal, and spent four days wandering around the frozen city and its tunnels by myself. It was not the most action-packed vacation I have ever had, but it was a catalyst. Or maybe the catalyst came before it. But it was the beginning of a series of fortunate events, that brought me to where I am now.
I may not always be happy now, but I never feel stuck the way I once did. I may feel conflicted, and caught between a rock and a hard place, but I am always aware that I can make a seemingly permanent situation quite temporary. Five years ago, Q and I talked about going to Spain, and I entertained the notion for a millisecond before brushing it off as thoroughly irrational. Now, I embrace the irrational, and will go to Spain this year without fail.
For some reason, knowing that dampens the impact of brick walls.
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