We drove in momentary silence. I wasn’t even sure how I’d rank them because, like most people, all three seem linked. Perhaps even subconsciously intertwined in our minds like money and happiness. Then, without pausing, my son answered, “Love. Money. Happiness.” My son: the romanticist! Maybe he’s the next Iranian poet, Hafez, who wrote, “When all of your desires are distilled, you will cast just two votes: to love more and to be happy."
A few nights later, my husband came home from work clutching a book that one of his customer’s had given him. Some born again Christian (my eyes immediately glazed over) had just received a book from a speaker at his church, David Nasser. Some Iranian exile who found Jesus after coming to America and wrote about it in Jumping Through Fires. My husband had left Iran, too, but he’d never had any desire to search for Jesus. If he had, our marriage might’ve ended much sooner. He handed me the book. I feigned interest, thumbing through the pages and casually flipping the book over to see the author’s picture, knowing that there was no way in hell I’d go anywhere near it. And then I read it, dedication to epilogue, in record time.
you to make sure you don’t end up living a life filled with regret.
God’s plans are not always the safest.”
I remember being in middle school and getting a pep talk from one of my basketball coaches. I was around the same age as my son, thirteen. I was unhappy and lost like most adolescent kids. My coach drew a line on a yellow legal pad with a capital ‘A’ and ‘B’ at each end. The lesson was about how to get from point A to point B, the destination. As I think about my life now in that same context, I’m nowhere near my destination. I’m not even on the line.
I once heard the advice that dream seekers should put 10% of their time towards fulfilling a dream. Blogging is not my dream. I keep asking myself, “How many blog clicks would it take to make it all worth it?” There isn’t a number high enough. I blogged to build an audience for my memoir, now titled Crockpots to Crackpipes, so some New York publisher would notice me. I thought that publishing a book was my dream. And it is, ONE of my dreams, one day. I keep living for one day. I want to live for now.
Dreams change and timelines move. So farewell for now. If you need me I’ll be in search of love, money, and happiness. I’m just sure in which order.