Awake on a strange couch at a friend’s apartment at 3 am, the silences seem different, foreign. I’ve been up since 6:30 yesterday morning, and am close to not having slept for 24 hours. These times seem prime to reflect on life choices.
What do I want in life? I do not want much. I want less. The more I have, the more I feel I am not living. I am reducing my wardrobe, reducing my packaging consumption, reducing my impact. And the more I do, the happier I seem. I am not ‘happy’ per say, I experience moments of happiness in greater abundance. It is not a constant thing. While it would be wonderful to be, such a life would diminish the preciousness of those moments.
I do not want to spend my day making sure I look alright, from doing makeup to deciding on one outfit out of many. Working from nine until five, struggling to keep up with ever enlarging invoices, stressing about deadlines, fashion, constructs of right and wrong.
I want acoustic music, voices, instruments. Soil under bare feet. Amazement, curiousity, marvels. Sweat, tears. Kisses, song. Drumbeats. Fresh food. New people, old people. Discoveries. Hard work, accomplishment, satisfaction.
I want to walk to the top of a mountain to meet the morning sun, and see my reflection in the wavering water of a dark stream instead of the harsh glare of a mirror under artificial light.
I want notebooks, sketchbooks journals, records of life.
I want happiness.
And happiness is only achieved without “I want”.