Me and Stanley

“Where I come from, you take what you’re given and you’re happy to have it,” he said as he took his eyes off the road and glared at me for a quick second. I could feel the judgment literally shooting through his pupils and piercing my soul as he said it.

I turned my eyes back to the road at about the same time he did, so I don’t think he saw me roll them almost all the way to the back of my head. And he definitely didn’t hear me scoff over the road noise. That would have started an entirely new scolding session. 

This wasn’t the first time he said this or something similar. You would think it was a father speaking with a daughter, not a husband to a wife. But he was always telling me to be thankful for what I have and stop reaching for more. 

He thinks it’s greed. But it’s not. It’s really just boredom, a little bit of drive, and an endless desire to see how far I can go. But when I’ve tried to explain that to him, the point was always lost. I learned a long time ago that he wasn’t capable of hearing any opinion other than his own. So eventually, I stopped talking about it.

A very deep and satisfying eye roll and an inward scoff... that's what I let myself have. Usually, it was enough to let out just a tiny bit of the frustration that had been building inside me for years. 

But, God. The thought of being complacent… I can’t imagine just existing day-to-day, without having a goal or a desire to do more, achieve more, be more, have more. And no, it’s not about money. Well… it’s a little bit about money, but ultimately I have things I want to do. Things I need to do. And if I don’t do them, I’m not going to like myself very much.

What’s so wrong with dreaming… seeing a desired destination on the horizon and reaching for it? That is literally what keeps me going every day. I don’t understand people who don’t have this within them. Losers!

As we continued to drive down the road, I let my mind wander. What would it feel like to be free? What would it feel like to be able to chase my dreams without somebody grabbing the collar of my shirt to drag me back down, again and again?

I looked out the window of the car and watched the landscape pass by quickly. We were flying down a country road in farmland, so there were lots of fields, some cows, a few horses… and lots of nothing. I wondered what it would feel like to open the car door and just jump. Jump and roll. Well, jump, tuck, and roll, I guess. After all, I wanted to survive so I could enjoy my freedom. 

I would have to wait until he slowed down again to let the ducks, or deer, or maybe a squirrel dodge the car. But that would be my chance. Open the door, dive head first, tuck into a rolling position, and go!

Really, my form was the least of my worries. My brain would never let me do that. I was way too responsible. But, daydreaming about taking the leap (or tucked roll) to freedom was definitely making this trip tolerable.

We were on our way to visit my Dad who had recently moved back to the country after Mom passed away. My parents were undeniably great parents, but I don’t think they ever really understood me. And it was evident every time we saw each other. 

That’s probably why Dad got along so well with him. They have the same exact views on life. You reach a place that’s good enough and you go with it. You stop looking for more; you stop planning for more; you stop striving for more. You reach a point of contentment and gratefulness and pure resolve. This is it for you.

Ugh, that makes me sick.

As the thump, thump, thump of the car tires on the poorly paved road continued, my daydream continued, too. 

I knew exactly what I would do. When I was finally free I would go live in a quiet cabin in the woods where I would paint. I would paint, and paint, and paint all day. I would actually be one of those few lucky people who made money painting. 

I don’t think I’d be celebrity-level famous, but I would have a cult-like following—people with money, of course—who would pay almost anything for one of my pieces. They would eagerly wait for my next masterpiece and happily enter a bidding war to win it. They would talk about my work at their fancy dinner parties. Maybe I would even get invited to those dinner parties someday.

I would wear a tight, short, sparkly dress with the highest heels I could walk in without stumbling (yeah, I would be practicing that well in advance, trust me!). I would wear makeup and jewelry, and I would fit right in. Well, almost. You can’t really take the country out of the country girl. But they would still love me.

I know, I know. It’s unrealistic, and borderline stupid. But in a perfect world that’s what I would be doing… day in, day out. I would be living solely with the feel of a paint brush in my hand, hearing the scratch of the bristles as they pulled across the canvas. I would paint all day and dream about painting at night. All of those forgotten ideas that had been bouncing around my head since I was a kid would be realized. I would be a painter. A painter!

I’d probably have a cat. Dogs are way too much work. And me and my cat—let’s call him Stanley—would grow old together and live out our days spattered in paint (Stanley wouldn’t be able to avoid some spattering because he would be a very affectionate and needy cat. Yes, they do exist!).

We would stay up late, sleep until whenever, have no rules, live life exactly how we wanted. No showers for three days? Duh. Wine at 10 AM? Sure, why the heck not. No groceries? Let’s share a can of tuna, Stanley. No boss to answer to; no husband to scold me; no Dad to worry about pleasing; no disapproving people to judge me. Pure bliss.

As I was envisioning me and Stanley running through the sunflower field that would, of course, be mere feet from my cabin, I felt the car come to a stop. Crap. I missed my opportunity to tuck and roll.

I looked over at him, wondering if he could sense the electricity flowing through me. Maybe this time he would ask me what I was thinking about. And he would listen and tell me, “Babe, I want you to follow your dreams. How can we make this happen?”

But instead, he said, “What the heck are you doing? Let’s go! Your Dad is waiting.” 

So I woefully got out of the car. I followed him into the house. And put my dreams on hold. For one more day.