Wishful Thinking

What do you want? Not “What do you want?” the rhetorical question that really means “Go away.”

I mean it. I want to know what you want in life.

What would make you happy? What would be the first thing you wish for?

Sigh. Fine. What would you wish for after you wished for more wishes, Smarty-pants?

Honestly. Try to have a serious conversation. Or try to have as serious a conversation as is reasonably possible when the subject is hopes, wishes and pipe dreams because we never want things we can get.

Cliché wishes include winning the lottery, stardom-level fame and sexual god(ess)hood.

Your personal chances of getting the first two probably level out at “not likely”. Out of respect, I won’t comment on the last.

See how I snuck respect in there? That’s writing, son. It’s called foreshadowing. Maybe you won’t ditch so many English classes next reincarnation.

Those were cliché wishes. Our real wishes are much more plebian. We want a little more money than we need. We want people to like us. And we want respect.

Oh yes you do. You want the respect of your boss, your mate and your peers. You want them to take you seriously, find you attractive and laugh at your jokes.

But wait, there’s more.

When you get a little older, you’ll have a whole new wish list. Respect is still on it, but it moves waaay down. You’re worried about your kids (if you have them, which I don’t) or your aging parents or your pets. Respect drops under all that, to somewhere below “Not waking up tired” and “Being fit without effort” and “Less tedium”.

That said, you don’t see me going to sleep an hour earlier or skipping the myriad small tasks that comprise a typical day, as much as I say I’d like to.

We want the consequences, but we’re still not willing to do what it takes to get them.

If wishes were fishes, we’d be eating then with our bagels for breakfast, packing wish-salad sandwiches for lunch and having wish-almondine for dinner.

And the fries wouldn’t be fattening.