Some mornings, I want freedom

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — where I can’t take two steps without hitting a wall — and run to the Grand Canyon. There, I would tip-toe to a ledge.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — where I’m currently housing a dog and a brother — and learn how to fly a solo plane. At 60,000 feet, I would talk to myself.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which is right next to a loud bar — and go to the Library of Congress. I would think about what I want to do with my life; I thought I’d have figured out by 25.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which lacks an oven, so it’ll never smell like fresh-baked cookies — and spend all day in my childhood home in Kansas. I would spend the morning eating rice and eggs on our old green breakfast bar; it belongs to another family now.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which costs me more than I like, but is four blocks from my girlfriend — and move to a house in the woods. I would write.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which is where my parents’ mail comes because they are in Vietnam — and drive to Canada. I would watch a hockey game.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which is in New York, because I’m finishing up grad school here — and not be in New York.

Some mornings, I want to wake up from my basement apartment — which might not be mine next year, depending on what I do and what my girlfriend does — and I want to become a singer. I am currently a terrible singer, but that’s the point.

But this morning, I woke up from my basement apartment — which I actually like — and walked my dog. I do it every morning. She prevents me from spontaneously running away. She keeps me from being free, much like many other people and things I’ve grown to love.

She’s pawing at my keyboard now, preventing me from finishing this sentence.

But when I look back at this list, the life I have sounds a lot better than the one I wish for.

Still, some mornings, I wake up from my basement apartment — where I feel claustrophobic — and I want to remind myself that I am still free enough to do whatever I want.

Some mornings, I wake up from my basement apartment and I remember I am doing exactly what I want.

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