Context

I worry about loosing context. In growing old. Older that is. That i may find myself at 38, single, having accomplished little in life. I am curious as to why this bothers me. Why do i need to feel important? Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, but at the very least in the lives of others.

If i hit thirty and still have no family of my own, no place to call home, will i get depressed?

I think about whether or not i would be satisfied if i just roam about. Living in different countries. Growing cherries along the equator and roasting the sun dried beans to grind and steep. To then sit and sip on as i stare longingly at fiery, sun basked clouds over a rolling ocean.

If roaming about an older continent with history on a two wheeled frame could make me happy. Learning about so many cultures that almost seem suffocated between one another for lack of breathing room. Colliding to the point of joint currency. Connected through a network of trains for when my legs tire.

Perhaps meeting up with old friends. To discuss the twists and turns life has spun out for us, or perhaps whether we have woven them for ourselves. Yet really just hoping to share a special context with someone we feel understands something within ourselves. For no known reason, despite placing so many miles between our souls.

Maybe that is the beauty of friendship. That we can expand the singular context of our bodies over the populated world through a joint bond of knowing that when we are united our experiences will be compounded. Our story enlarged through the assimilation of similar souls.

I want children. But i also want instability. I intend to figure this out. Though i'm only hitting 22. 16 years lie between me and feeling like McMurphy. But the years are passing faster than i know, and i don't intend to tarry.