F. U. Thoreau

The other day, I was out walking with Baby, and I passed by a froufy stationery store. The window had a display where a card or poster or something with a quote by Thoreau which said, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined." Instead of being inspired like I knew I should be, I was angry. I felt angrier than I had in a very long time. I wanted to hurl the stroller, minus Baby, through the window of the store. Not that that would show Thoreau, but he's dead somewhere, so all I could really think to do was hurl the stroller, minus Baby, through the window of the store. Unlike other times when I've been unable to immediately know why something's made me angry, I knew right away why this particular Thoreau quote incensed me so much. I thought: He doesn't fucking know what he's talking about.
Right now the life I dream of and imagine is a life in which I hop a Virgin Atlantic flight from Dulles to London, alone, this evening. I spend a few days bumming around London and maybe even bump into my friend from college who moved there but I've lost touch with. I'd see a play and finally visit the British Museum and maybe take a day trip to Bath or Salisbury. Next, I'd make my way over to Italy via the Eurostar and visit Cinque Terre and take very long walks and sit alone by the sea and cry a lot. I would eat gelato at least twice a day and drink wine or lemoncello. In Italy I would meet interesting people from all over the world and share meals and hike with them. Once I finished crying, and I'd cry until everything felt better, I could come home and be at my social, physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional best. It's worked before, and it's all I want right now. I can't imagine my life beyond sitting by the sea because right now I can't imagine ever feeling better about anything. Ain't postpartum hormones great?
I am angry at Thoreau because I can't live this life. I have a husband and a baby, and if I just took off, I'm not sure I'd be let back home. Plus, I would miss them terribly. Baby depends on me. Who else would feed him and change him and dress him in jeans and a t-shirt? Who else would spend 20 straight minutes playing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" or "You Licked My Thumb!" with him? Who else would sing to him and pray with him and take him on long walks around the town? Whose arm fat would he sleep on? Husband also depends on me. He needs me to take care of Baby and mail things and listen to him talk about soccer.
I can't even live the more realistic life I imagined for several years: living in New York, going to shows and restaurants, and bars, and museums having Important Conversations with Interesting People, writing and traveling the world. Living this life is an impossibility. I have to think about what Husband wants and what Baby needs. My life belongs to Husband and Baby, and that's the life I chose and the life I often love. We are a family, our own little unit with rents and possibly a mortgage to think about. We have credit cards to pay off and private school to pay for eventually. I also think it's really important to raise my kid close to his grandparents.
I lived in New York briefly, and it was the happiest time of my life so far, but it wasn't quite what I dreamed. I was frequently lonely, and due to my complete lack of social skills, spent the first year I lived there with a whopping two friends. New York is an expensive place to live, and I will be paying off my time there for the next 30 years. I tended to go to summer blockbusters rather than Broadway shows and chose Barnes and Noble over museums.
Intellectually, I know that just because my life didn't turn out exactly how I imagined or planned doesn't mean it's a crappy life. But I'm still angry at Thoreau because his quote makes me feel like I failed. I didn't pursue the life I imagined; the life I'm pursuing is almost the exact opposite of the life I imagined. And I can't pursue the life I imagined because it's not only my life anymore. When I thought about my life, I imagined I'd head off to New York and not look back. I never imagined myself moving back to Virginia, much less my hometown. While I have very good reasons for doing so, like a job I enjoy and a husband and baby I adore, I still feel like I'm giving up. I need to know I can move back to my hometown and still have elements of the life I dreamed of and expected to have, with some adjustments. It's a life where Husband and Baby and I are all happy and do things together that don't always involve the television or sports. It's a life where I am financially stable enough to travel with my family and show them the places I love and ache for every day and have them understand why I love them and ache for them. It's a life where we go on long walks and talk about Important Things that aren't the day to day, and it's a life where I have a group of friends I see frequently and we also talk about Important Things. In this life, we live in a lovely little house with a small yard and sit on the deck watching Baby stumble around the backyard. We go to a church that's neither mean nor theologically simplistic. I am free to pursue whatever educational paths I want, and I'm no longer freakishly shy. We're not exhausted and burned out. It's a life in which the Iraq war and bird flu don't exist, and the world isn't such a fucked up, broken place. I can afford to shop at Whole Foods. I read and write and talk to interesting people. And I ride a Vespa everywhere. A red one.
I'm even angry at Thoreau because I don't feel like what I want is unreasonable, even though I know some of it is unrealistic. I know I shouldn't blame Thoreau because I'm unhappy or too lazy to get out of my head and live the life I want. It's not his fault I don't have a Vespa. It's just not as easy as Thoreau's quote makes it seem. And for that, I give him a resounding F.U., the finger, and a Bronx cheer.
Oh, and I know pretty much nothing about Thoreau or his struggles. Maybe he does know what he's talking about and it's Hallmark who should be getting the F.U. for oversimplifying some brilliant philosophical ideal. But since I don't actually know that, Thoreau is the one who gets the F.U., for now, anyway.