We all have this inventory of goals to achieve before falling head over skull with the Reaper, right? The bucket list? As early as we can remember, we wanted to do “something” with our existence. We wished to become an astronaut, a princess or, at least, a movie star. But it doesn’t take long before we end up as disappointed as a Chicago Bears fan.
Indeed, we will not be an astronaut since we vomit after turning only three times on ourselves. We won’t be a princess either, except maybe a slutty one at ComicCon. And when your acting career is reduced to feeling a roll of toilet paper while glancing at the camera and murmuring “Hmm, that’s so soft!”, then you know where you can put that silver screen dream.
Basically, we have this idea of a successful life by the number of checked boxes on an ambitious menu. Many of us are putting tremendous pressure on our way to greatness. And I’ll be on the cover of Forbes between Zuckerberg and Oprah! And I’ll do the Ironman until my nipples bleed! And I’ll have two children, one of each, which I will give birth to, pain free, in a warm water pool!
Hum … Good luck with that…
Obviously, when we can’t get all the moons we were aiming for, we feel like a failure. Especially since we yapped to everyone that we were going to do the paths of Compostela before our thirtieth birthday. And the older we get, the stronger the smell of necrosis under the sole of that one foot in the grave. We then become crazy with desire of accomplishment. We throw stuff in the bucket as to render it unkickable and cheat our inevitable demise.
Let’s go! A parachute jump in Scotland after swimming with the dolphins in Costa Maya, but before that, let’s finish our novel about the adventures of an accountant with a license to kill! No way we’ll get to do it all. No way. We are too lazy or poor or we simply don’t have the talent or time.
But is it that bad that our real life gets in the way of our sublimated one? If we promised ourselves to chart our family tree and we decide to kill zombies on our game console instead, we may regret it for two minutes on our deathbed, but then, we will not give a single eff for all eternity.
In short, let me slip into a shapeless robe and tune in Lebowski to tell you this: You’re alive, man; don’t you think it’s already something incredible in itself? If you really feel the need, go audition for The Voice or throw your carcass in the fountain of that Dolce Vita movie … But if you choose to just live life, quietly, that’s okay too. Your journey will always be a triumph if you understand that you won’t take any of your exploits in the hereafter.
So try to make yourself comfortable and simply enjoy the ride.
‘Cause you have to know it’s all good, dude. It’s aaaall good…