The irony of today’s topic does not escape me: take a
photograph of something that I wish I had. Well now, if I had it, I wouldn’t
have it to take a photo of, would I? I suppose I could “cheat” by posting a photo that I didn’t
take, perhaps something from my Pinterest board entitled “Stuff I’ll Buy When I
Finally Write That Best-Seller.” A fur coat, a pair of Louboutins, a Valentino
gown, a jet ski, some really nice jewelry, a snazzy little convertible. But
even that stuff isn’t really stuff I wish I had, at least not in the sense that
I think about wanting it on a regular basis.
There really aren’t many tangible, visible, physical things
that I want on a regular basis. I mean, I have passing wants. I want a glass of wine. I want a second cup of coffee. I want a pair of comfortable jeans. I want two potty-trained children. But
those are all things that are well within my ability to obtain, if I want them badly
enough and I’m willing to bide my time (okay, I’m starting to have my doubts
about that last one, but I’m keeping faith that it will happen eventually). But
I can’t think of any bit of “stuff” that I really, genuinely want that I can’t
have.
I suppose there are intangible things that I want in
passing, as well. I want to be able
to play the piano well. I want my
children to get along with each other. I want
to publish a best-seller. And although I certainly have the ability to work
toward making those things happen, none of them are completely in my control. I
can improve my piano playing, but with a degenerative disease in my hands and
limited practice time, I’m never going to be much more than a passable pianist.
I can teach my children good manners and model interpersonal skills for them,
but I can’t force them to be nice to each other every second of the day. I can
write umpteen drafts of a book and send it to dozens of publishers, but if
no-one want to publish it (or if they do, but no-one wants to buy it), I am
simply not capable of making it a best-seller on my own. But it isn't really the end of the world to me if none of those things happen.
So what is it that I really, genuinely, continuously,
deep-down, wish I had? I think, as so many moms of small children would answer,
I wish I had more time.
I wish I had more time to just sit back and play with my
children. I wish I had more time to sit them in my lap and read to them. I wish
I had more time to read classic literature and cheesy novels and young adult
dystopian fiction. I wish I had more time to visit my in-laws and my cousins
and my old college chums. I wish I had more time to work on writing that book
and practicing piano and being in musicals and learning to cook gourmet meals.
I wish I had more time to watch the sunrise and the sunset. I wish I had more
time to stay up late catching fireflies and counting shooting stars. I wish I
had more time to chat with strangers in line at the grocery store. I wish I had
more time to get to know the other parents at my son’s preschool. I wish I had
more time to snuggle with my husband in front of a fire with a glass of good
wine in my hand and a symphony playing in the background. I wish I had more
time to go see all my talented friends and family in their many performances. I
wish I had more time to travel around the country and the world. I wish I had
more time to take my kids to art museums and science museums and historical museums.
More time: I wish I had it.
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