“What do you want?”
The first time I was ever asked that was by a guy. A breathtakingly handsome guy that was far too above my paygrade that somehow I was sort of dating. The problem was I was 24 years old, felt that he was out of my paygrade for some reason and didn’t have the maturity to give MY answer, not the one I thought he wanted to hear.
It didn’t work out, because I wasn’t mature enough at the time for it to work out. But I never forgot that moment he asked that question, and how it felt to give an answer that wasn’t really my own.
I’ve gotten that question from time to time since then and answered correctly – or at least correctly for me. It was easy.
The past several months have been filled with this question – in every single aspect of my life and world, over and over again. The difference, now, is that I find myself because of maturity not having answers.
If I counted the number of forks in the road I’ve stared at lately I’d have a sterling brunch service for 20 at my fingertips including every obscure sterling fork you can imagine. Lemon and ramekin forks included.
Every other motivational pin these days is some quote about going for what you want. Don’t stop ’til you get what you want. Wear what you want. Do whatever you want. Be who you want.
I know what I want. In every category, in every situation. I also know that what I want can cost other people – sometimes dearly. So, it doesn’t matter that I want it. I cannot have it. And there is the distance between 24 and 43, between here – and there. No matter what Pinterest says.
Because it really isn’t about what you want.
But that question keeps getting asked – either directly or it hangs in the air, unspoken, but understood.
And right now I’m so tired from trying to not answer.