Drink your juice.

Iron and Wine — My Lady’s House

There are a handful of ways I can see my life playing out, and one of them involves about ten acres of land and a porch somewhere in the Midatlantic US or Alaska. It doesn’t really matter who’s there with me, the fantasy isn’t about family so much as it’s about pacing. This Future ‘Stine has taken the time to read all of the books she wants to read. She isn’t on the internet very much. You can’t reach her on her phone a lot of the time.

The land wouldn’t be for farming or anything. Just space. Trees and fields and ponds between me and the road. Space between me and the miles to anyone else. And the driveway’s long and unpaved. I’ll have a couple of animals just for the sake of having them. A cat, maybe a really gentle donkey. Drive a Wagoneer into town once a month.

There’s something deeply appealing in the possibility of giving zero fucks about the things that feel important to a young person. In the notion of the flux quotient being so wide that my happiness would be anchored in a set of things entirely separated from what’s meaningful right now. 

Who the fuck knows what I’m capable of at the end of the day? Whether any of it will manifest as deeply as it feels like it could. There’s a quiet magic in believing that you might do it, though. Keeping the card in your deck.