It’s quite ironic how I never really saw myself as a family man, but I do feel envious of friends who have settled down with one. I can’t fully imagine myself having a family of my own, but if envy for those with one is an affliction, then it is one that ails me.
I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not for me. I’m cool with being an uncle of a godfather. Even a father figure. But having children with my rugged good looks and faulty, mental illness-plagued genes, nah.
Yet here I am feeling envious of friends who are closer to, if not the same, age as I am. Some are on their third child. Some are married – happily, I hope. Some friends who are man and wife have been together since college and are still going strong. And where am I in the 30s era? Still tiptoeing through the landmines of his own brain, broke, and unable to see himself a year from now. Two months from now, in an extreme case.
There is envy. But I look at my life now, less than stellar, less than ideal – but I still, on a limited capacity, get to do what I want. I still get to live my dreams. I still get to live the future I foresaw when I was much younger and less cynical. I still get to live – within boundaries, yes – but I still get to live.
I’ve once stated that I do have to accept that it’s just going to be me, alone, in the end. That a solitary life that’s without companionship and romance is what I was always meant for. I’ve yet to accept that, perhaps ultimately, I am meant to spend my remaining years in this life in solitude.
It’s a lonely life I lead. But it’s a life, regardless. I have to find a way to accept that.