Living It Up

I often wonder how my life would have turned out if just a few things that happened to me early on had not. Like if my mother had gripped my hand a little tighter when I was four years old at Coney Island, instead of letting some delusional bag lady grab it and trot me off to her messy nest for a day and a night. Would I be more trusting today? Have a sunnier disposition? Enjoy reading bestsellers, having lunch with the girls and getting mani-pedis?

Or better yet, what if I had realized the inherent potential for excitement and chosen the crazy Brooklyn bag lady over the standard-issue Long Island family of four, growing up in the carnival atmosphere of an urban amusement park, never attending college and ending up as what? A trapeze artist? A street performer? Who knows, maybe a superstar? Possibly something better than what I am, since my average upbringing, while peppered with several odd tragedies and overshadowed by a crazy sibling but otherwise normal as diner pie, spit me out as just another cog in the wheel.

I remain convinced that there's more to do besides fetishize food, yammer about Donald Trump or binge-watch Game of Thrones, activities that currently consume most members of my generation. And though it's way too late now for me to summit Mt. Everest or run away and join a carny, still I fixate on how to make my remaining God-given days more interesting without resorting to dropping acid or volunteering in a hospice.

Piano lessons simply didn't do it. Ditto Tai Chi twice a week or buying a charming little cottage on a nearby island. (Thankfully we figured that one out in time.) I just hope I discover whatever it is while I can actually do it.