The Question

What am I going to do with my life?

It persists.

And it's a tough one.

A million years ago, I attended this all day seminar for "student leaders" when I was in student government in college. And... Well heck. Let's try it.

Right now, stop reading this. Sit back, close your eyes, let your mind roam free, and then, do your best to come up with a list of some things you want to do in life.

Just, whatever. No right or wrong answer.

See Ankor Wat? Climb a Mayan pyramid? See the summit of Anapurna? Write the Great American Novel? Get psychoanalyzed in Vienna? Work your way through Julia Childs' The French Chef? Take two fists? Collar a slave? Make a million dollars? Skydive?

Great things to think about. But hold off. Before you start thinking about how you might go about realizing some of these goals, or worse, thinking about how far you have to go to meet your goals.

Just stop.

Clear your mind.

Think of lemons.

Think of pickles.

Think of pickled lemons.

(Mad phat props to anyone out there who can track down the pop-cultural reference in the last three sentences to their source. I'm relatively certain that no one will ever get it. Here's a hint: think of a line drawn Brenda Vaccaro.)

Okay. Now sit back. Relax. New area of inquiry.

Imagine that the phone rings. It's your doctor. Your tests have come back. The news is really bad. It's Dark Victory time. You've got about four or five days left until the end comes.

So. Today is Saturday. You've got until Tuesday or Wednesday.

So how are you going to spend the next few days? Who do you want to spend them with? Where do you want to spend them? What do you want to do?

Now here's the kicker.

You have just been asked the same question twice.

Only one difference: timeframe.

So, how close were your answers? And what does that say to you?

Here's another thing I've been thinking of.

What would I do if I knew that failure was inevitable? So it didn't matter.

Fear of failure is crippling to me. In ways great or small, from going to grad school to talking to some guy in a bar. What if I fail?

So reverse that. Failure is inevitable. Right down in flames. Down the toilet.

There's just no end to what i would do.

I'd open up this little cafe dind of place. Called Input. I'd serve coffee, espresso bar set up. But, more importantly, tea by the pot. And little baked things. And protein smoothies and stuff. But also, a nice One Pot Meal. Vietnamese fish stew. Beef stew. White bean chicken chile with cilantro and green chilis. Wifi situation going on. Lots of comfy places to sit. And there would be a small selection of books, magazines, and CDs.

Get it? Input.

Or open up a spa. In the European style. A blazing sauna. An ice cold pool. A small commisarie. Massage available. A lounge. And the point of all of it is just to relax.

And welding. To start with anyway. Collars, shackles, restraints... I have a great idea for a frame to restrain a man for whipping. Need a gibbet for your lucky slave? I know there's lots of that stuff around, but what would set my stuff apart would be amazing design. And then, branch out. To custom designed dungeons. Well, dungeon implies sconces and straw on the floor and all. And that's a wee bit... récherché. "Erotic envioronment" might be a better term. The erotic environment of your dreams and desires, designed and built for you by a man who loves his work.

And the book, of course. All the books. Book after book after book. Writing and writing. And... y'know... readings and maybe NPR interviews. Not that I have so much to say, but more so many conversations I'd like to start.

Nothing but possibilities. And since I'm doomed to failure from the get go, there's nothing to lose. And it would sure be fun.

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