You say I don’t know what I want; I think it’s that I want so much.

You say I can’t make up my mind; I think I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.

You say I have no way of knowing until I give it a shot; I say the risk is more significant than the reward.

How could I, a mess of a man, appreciate what life is rather than what life could be? I was set up from a young age to believe that having something would never be good enough. Yet, I’m here semi-grown up, realizing that this is a stupid mentality to carry. I should know better; I do know better. However, something in me keeps telling me there’s more. It’s nobody’s fault but my own; I’m aware of this, but fuck, it’s so easy to blame it all on others. I could never picture myself comfortable. I don’t know if not being able to see myself getting older is a good thing or if it’s depressing, but I know that in my head, I have to keep pushing. Right now, that only looks like work, spending time with my family, and stacking money. Later, I’m not sure. Maybe one day I have kids, and my journey consists of coaching their youth sports, taking them to practices and tutoring, and taking them on 1-1 kid and dad dates. What if that never comes, though? I’ve been fine putting many of my dreams to the side, and I’ve avoided a lot of self-resentment so far. Will it always be that way? Is it possible for a first-generation, oldest sibling, a kid that came up from riding the public bus, to be satisfied with what he has?

I couldn’t imagine stopping and smelling the roses all that much because I’m too busy planting many more. Once you figure out you can blossom flowers through the concrete; there’s not much more for you to do other than continue to plant. It almost seems irresponsible at some point. So what then? If I can’t find my answer, I just keep going?