So We Think that We're Important, and We Think that We Make Sense

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We spend so much of our time waiting. Yesterday, I stood in a line for almost an hour at the DMV only to be told that I was one form shy of getting what I needed. It would have been a complete waste of time if I hadn't brought a book to read.

It's frustrating, though. I once saw film footage of the 405 in Los Angeles - probably the busiest freeway in the country. The local government is debating whether to turn the 8-lane highway into a 16-lane highway by building another highway on top of it. Double-decking. It seems like the most dangerous plan of all time.

The great thing about it this film footage of the 405 shows it in the morning - packed to the gills - and in the time just before noon - completely barren. We are all, essentially, trying to get to the same place at the same time. Or at least headed in the same direction all at once.

I always knew I was made for a big city. Growing up in a town of 300,000, I was one of the few people who recognized it as a small town. Now, living in a decently sized place, I find myself equally exhilarated and exhausted by the urban problem of population. This wolf in sheep's clothing offers incredible social opportunities, a sprawling music scene, life of every walk - anything you could really want at fingertip's reach. It also offers the crowded metro system, the red tape of dealing with so many with so few resources, and, of course, our friend the one-hour wait at the DMV.

The plan is evolving into one of becoming decently wealthy and moving to the outskirts of some far off place. Central Texas would be great. I've always liked the hill country. I imagine I'll become a corn farmer in my spare time. I'll spend the rest of it with my loved ones. Visitors will come and go as they please, spending the night or the month in my spare rooms. My main interests will be whittling, filling my children's heads with nonsense, and writing haiku about the animals that stop by to graze in my front yard.

Every now and again I'll foray into the city to remember what life was like. To enjoy the comforts of the busker playing saxophone on the street corner, to dive headfirst into a pint at the local hipster bar, to seek refuge from all of my serenity.

Maybe I'll even wait in a line to see what all the fuss is about.

I can't wait to be an old, farmhand by age thirty. I guess it's the only thing I am willing to wait for though. Call me impatient, but the way our large lives are structured involves far too much inactivity - waiting in long lines for the simplest of tasks; the bank, the grocery store, the metro station. The biggest problem? All that waiting makes us hurry during the parts of life we should be slowing down for.

So what are you waiting for?