This Street or That

Are we mere leaves

“You know how often the turning down this street or that, the accepting or rejecting of an invitation, may deflect the whole current of our lives into some other channel. Are we mere leaves, fluttered hither and thither by the wind, or are we rather, with every conviction that we are free agents, carried steadily along to a definite and pre-determined end?”

~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Stark Munro Letters

It has been a whirlwhind of a summer. Hard for me to imagine that it’s already Autumn, and soon Winter. Giada is seven months old now, and that is even more difficult for me to believe. The days and nights, weeks, and months, and now the seasons have all meshed into one undistinguishable time line. 
On most days, I wake with a definitive purpose: to go about my day and try to come out breathing. In between, I try to make all the facets of my life work in conjunction with one another – a balancing act of sorts. It is then that I realize that I never really was good at juggling.
On other days, and mostly on those days that I don’t feel like waking, I feel as though my days are at destiny’s whim, and no matter how I had planned for my day to go, it never ends as I had wanted or expected. I wonder then if we really do have free will, or if our lives simply follow the course that has already been mapped for us. Certain events in my own life have me believe the latter, simply because there are no rational explanations for some of the experiences that I have had to endure. Surely, Event X would never have had to happen, unless Event Y was going to happen at a later time to somehow give validation to it.
Life is just one big mystery to me right now. All I want is for all the little fragmented pieces of my life to all come together to make one big, happy picture. It doesn’t seem too much to ask, or does it?

Dream Some


Endless dirty diapers and banal household duties make it difficult to set aside time to daydream. I am too immured in the reality of my life. I know all too well my station in life, and I have accepted the fact that I will always have to work hard for everything. My family never owned any silver spoons, and we are from new money. In fact, the money was so new, it was always replaced with every paycheck.
And so one of my guilty pleasures is daydreaming – daydreaming of a life very unlike my own. I dream of a life with little worry for finances, little worry for menial, meaningless household chores, and of a life free from time constraints and the luxury of spending days carefree and free.
This past weekend, as I drove through Riverside Drive, I started to daydream. I love this part of New York City the best, with its elegant pre-war buildings and the lush view of Riverside Park. I always wonder what life would be like to live in one of those posh brownstones, and I daydream of someday living there. I daydream of having elegant little lunches in the sunroom, and of sitting on the front steps on warm summer nights. I imagine after-dinner strolls through Riverside Park.
I love day dreaming. It’s a healthy escape and somewhat of a motivator. Dreaming of those things that I cannot have make me strive even harder so that one day, perhaps my dreams can be my reality.