i’ve been laying here on my bed for the past twenty or thirty minutes, staring up at the ceiling. i’ve thought about important people in my life, certain memories, places i’ve been and loved, the hurt i’ve been through, and i’ve come to the realization that i don’t think i’m living my best life.
the scenario that comes to mind when i think of how i’d spend my days (if leaving the people i love wasn’t necessary) is of moving to the west coast. i’d find some little town nestled in the trees where it rains for the majority of the year. i’d work at a little coffee shop in the early mornings into late afternoons and then work a few hours at floral shop. i’d adopt a pup (or two) from the shelter and run with them every day. i’d drive around in an old jeep wrangler and always have music playing in my home. i’d spend my weekends traveling the coast with my pups and my camera, volunteering all over, visiting friends, finding art galleries and museums to spend time in, and finding trails and mountains to hike. i’d always have an abundance of fresh fruit, vegetables, and cheese (because cheese is so dang good) in my fridge. i’d have lots of special wines that i’d share with loved ones. i’d want to learn to longboard just ‘cause and maybe i’d give surfing a try - who knows. i’d finally get tattoo’d and no one would treat me differently for it. i’d find people who are interested in getting to know me on a deeper level than what i present on the surface. i’d have a secret bookstore that i’d go to where the owner would know my name and always have a suggestion ready for me because he knows how eager i am when it comes to challenging myself to a hard read. loved ones would visit me and they’d see my level of happiness (rather than my level of success) as something to celebrate and be proud of because life is too dang short to not to do