I’m an impulsive person. As a result of basically doing whatever I want whenever I feel like it I have been happily married for seven years, am the proud father of a two children, have a stable career, and I own my own home.
How could this have happened? I did everything I could to avoid it. I bummed around the planet for a few years, I didn’t go to college until my late twenties, and at that point I majored in philosophy and Greek, I’ve never given any value to possessions or the accumulation of wealth, and yet here I am, a suburban dad. I even own a Kia.
The fact is, reckless impulsivity lead me down this dark and twisted path. I loved a girl, so I quit my job and followed her to college, where I got my hilarious degrees. Later, I asked her to marry me. Didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t like my job, so I went back to school to get a teaching certificate, expanding student debt be damned. Found out we were having a baby, so I bought a house.
So that all worked out fine, it would seem. Except now I live in some bedroom community, a city in which the primary attraction is, in 2019, a mall. I commute to work on a series of freeways. I think about bills far more often than I ever thought I would. I don’t like it that much, overall. So, what’s the solution? Stop.
I gave notice at my job, putting the house up for sale, and moving to the other side of the country, to the border of New and old Mexico actually. I randomly bought a piece of land out there a few years ago, then threw out a few resumes to the schools in the area, and lo and behold a job has been offered. We’ll use the money from the house to pay off all debts, and start life afresh in the high desert of dreamland. Will it work out? That question doesn’t even mean anything.
As usual, someone else already said what I’m trying to say in a far more pleasing format. Take it away, Avetts.