For my entire adult life I've known what I wanted for myself. To be married, to have my own family. I want a satisfying career. A house with a yard, a dog. I want to string Christmas lights from the front porch, put the Christmas tree in the front window. I want to raise my children the way I was raised -- with love and family traditions, morals and a good home. I realize I live in a fantasy world. I realize I've fucked things up for myself on more than one occasion. I mean, come on. I've already been married. And divorced. I'm unemployed. Nobody has a perfect life. White picket fences only exist in Lifetime movies. But does that mean giving up on the dreams I've always had for myself? At what point do I realize I'm too naive for my own good? When do I allow the fact that I'm foolish to soak in?
Recently I've questioned myself and the things I believe in. I've felt bad for them, like maybe I'm putting stock in the wrong things in life. But isn't it my life? It's not your house and yard and dog and white picket fence, it's mine. Am I too materialistic? Dreaming? Is a career the dream of someone who let the influence of a consumer society rot their brain?
Then I realize the doubts are bullshit. I won't feel bad for my beliefs and my goals and my dreams. So I'll close my eyes, take a deep breath and keep shooting for the life I want. The people who are still there in the end are the people who were meant to be a part of it.