As I stumbled out of the Back Bay train station this morning for a breath of real air before clambering down onto the T, I had a realization: I’m living the dream. It’s my little dream, but I’m living it.
- I live within striking distance of Boston, and I get to work in town enough to enjoy it, but not enough to hate it.
- My job is cooler than I ever imagined a job could be. It’s exactly that old guidance counsellor thing: Find a way to get paid for doing things that you like to do.
- I own my own little house, with a garden. The stuff I have is as nice as I need it to be.
- I know how to do things … more things than I would have guessed. I can cook, and I can build a supercomputer. I can identify birds, and I can make beer.
- I’m 30 years old, but my mind isn’t fading, and my body hasn’t (knock on wood) shown any propensity for falling apart or failing in a catastrophic manner.
- I’ve been around the world, and I’ll almost certainly do so again.
All of this struck me at once and made me profoundly happy, on a cool and crisp fall morning.
Leave a Reply