What Would Your Ideal Life Look Like?
After returning from Myrtle Beach, I didn’t know what to do with my life. This wasn’t unusual, of course. What was unusual is that I was even considering my future.
I mentioned this to my therapist. I told him about wanting to live at the beach, about considering drowning myself in the ocean, about my mother and my family and the end of my childhood dreams.
“If you could do anything,” said Dr. C, “what would you do?”
“Anything? You mean like a job?”
“I mean anything. If you could just pick a future for yourself, what would you pick?”
“I’d be a rock star,” I said. “A singer.”
“Okay,” said the therapist. “How can you make that happen?”
“Well, I can’t make that happen,” I said. “I will never be a rock star. I can’t just blink and make myself famous.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t work that way!” I whined.
“How does it work?” my therapist asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is there anything that you can make happen just by blinking?” He was trying to point out the obvious.
“I used to think I Dream of Jeannie was real,” I said, “But no. I can’t make anything happen just by blinking.”
“So what does it take to make something happen?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “So far, nothing I have ever wanted has actually happened.”
Dr. C reconsidered his line of questioning.
“Okay,” said my therapist. “Let’s say you could just blink and make something happen – your ideal life. Let’s pretend it’s possible to have whatever life you want. What would your ideal life look like?”
I stopped whining for a minute and imagined my ideal future. I had never actually thought about it realistically. I was a dreamer, but my dreams were far-reaching and sporadic.
Finally a picture popped into my head, and I answered.
“I would be married to a guy with long hair,” I said. “We would laugh a lot, and we’d play games together on weekends. We’d be totally in love.”
“Okay, so you would be happily married.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“What else would I need?” It had never occurred to me that my happiness wouldn’t come from whatever man married me.
“What would you do when you weren’t with your husband?”
“Ideally?”
“Yes.”
“I would be a writer.”
“What would you write?”
“Books.”
“What kind of books?”
“Fiction? What other kind of books are there?”
“There are lots of kinds of books,” said Dr. C. “You can write whatever you want.”
“Well I’d write books for kids. And I’d have a German Shepherd. Or a Saint Bernard. Or both! I’d like to have four dogs. Oh! And a farm.”
“Okay, so you would be a happily married writer with four dogs on a farm.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have children?”
“Yes!” I yelled, surprising even myself. “I want six children, like The Brady Bunch!” My ideals seemed to stem entirely from television.
“It sounds like your ideal life would be very busy.”
“Why?” I said. “I don’t even know what I’d do for fun.” I was serious. I had no idea that taking care of six kids, four dogs and a whole farm, all while writing books, would not allow for any downtime.
“Let’s start with what you have,” said Dr. C. “What do you think the first step would be for you to get this ideal life?”
“Meet the right man,” I sighed. I imagined that ever-elusive perfect human being I’d created.
“I’m not sure that should be first,” he said.
I thought hard. “Maybe quit drinking?”
“Maybe,” he said.