The Kind Of Woman I Want To Be

"I don't know," I said, because truthfully I didn't, "I mean that's a huge question. Who do I want to be in life? Am I supposed to have that figured out yet?"

She laughed again, "No, I don't think we are."

I don't know how to put this exactly but I didn't really have an answer to that, I knew that much at least. And I knew that I had basically the opposite of that, in fact.

I knew who I didn't want to be. I knew the life I didn't want to live. I could eliminate a whole bunch of options but actually finding one that worked for me? That was a whole different kettle of fish.

Probably I should have an answer, or at least the beginnings of an idea. I mean I'd lived a life before, got a fair number of years beyond this point and been out in the world and so I knew at least a few truths about things.

Knew that I didn't want to work some dull office job where I was little more than a cog in a machine and knew that I didn't want to be alone, didn't want to be lonely anymore.

I wanted friends to celebrate me on my birthday and I wanted to be noticed sometimes. Not all the time maybe but occassionally.

I wanted to be in better shape than I was and I wanted to be happier than I was and I knew what didn't work.

Disposable income had never been a problem for me. Single with a decent paying job and a frugal lifestyle in most daily respects meant that I had plenty of spare cash to spend on myself.

So I knew that buying things, that material objects, weren't going to bring me happiness. And I knew that experiences also only went so far. Trips overseas or whatnot had been nothing but more loneliness for me.

But what did that really tell me? And how would I find what I was looking for in a club? These were surface level interactions only, really. They weren't going to be the solution alone, right?

But then again, maybe they were. Because Rachel was seeing something in this moment that I was missing.

"Hobbies?" she asked me and I shook my head, "Interests? Pastimes? Food? Outings?"

I shook my head to all of them and she didn't get frustrated with me. She just patted my arm like she was going to work it all out for me and then stopped us short, pulling me up and off to the side into a little alcove between three tents and facing me out towards the aisle while she stood with her back to it.

"Okay then let's start simple," she said, "Look at those three booths across the way, do you see them?"

I glanced over her shoulder and spied them. They seemed to be a frisbee golf tent attended by a guy who was staring off into the distance with a bit of a blurry haze, a touch football team with a tent manned by a really tall built dude who I would have figured we be more into tackle than touch, and a painting club booth with a sweet looking girl who was currently working on something in a large artists notebook with charcoals.

"Pick one," Rachel said to me, "But pick it based on something specific, a criteria that I'm going to tell you right now. Because I want you to look at those three booths and picture yourself at each one of them. I want you to almost close your eyes and think of which one you'd want to do on a saturday afternoon, in your free time. I want you to really picture yourself there, really see yourself in it.

"Think about what would be fun. Think about what would be satisfying. Think about which one you'd actually want to get out of bed and still make it to even if you're suffering from the mother of all hangovers from the night before.

"And then, with that in your mind, I want you to forget all about that."

I raised an eyebrow, not knowing where she was going with this.

"Because instead of all that," Rachel smiled mischeviously, "I want you to pick which of those three people you'd like to fuck."

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