Lately, I have found a deliberate attempt in myself to slow things down and, when that is not possible, to quiet them. And now, with the balcony doors open, I sit beside them and make a wish. To not believe in the mystical and still make a wish now and then would be one of the greatest hypocrisies of my life. To wish is human, however. So, here I sit, wanting things after all, hypocrisy withstanding.
The coming year has me rolling in quiet discomfort. There is so much I want to happen, but I am grateful, so grateful for all the things that have already. But if I were to list wishes down for this year, just in time, I would say I ought to bring more art into my life, more than I have, and visit museums a bit more, and if the city I live in does not have many of them, to find cities that do. It would be nice also to not experience them alone. I have been the sole spectator for all the good and all the bad, all the small and all the big, thus far. This is a teeming life, and I wish sometimes I were not watching it unfold all by myself. Regular visits, perhaps on Sundays after a hearty brunch, to the museums and galleries with someone—now there’s a wish if I ever knew one.
Resting matters of the heart aside, lest they hog the breadth of this piece, I want for more connection, more community. I know wanting does little, so it will be fate and me working in tandem for it. The importance of other people in this life was never washed over me. It has been an adjustment so far, and now, my heart desires to adjust no more but to expand. I wish for myself to allow it this privilege. For too long, I have kept it safe (for good reason), but now, I must let it soar once again.
All that aside, I want for more joy, more than I have had so far: more sun, more books, more love, more art, more luck, more coffee, more booze, more of everything imaginable. I anticipate an insatiable want for more growing in me. It has come before, and it has faced rabid disappointment. For once, I want it to tire of wanting things. For once, I want it sated. After all, there must be a time in every life without compromise. At least, I would want to believe that.