I wish.

I wish I were better and smarter and faster and funnier.

I wish I worked out more and actually enjoyed it and spent more time with family without feeling distracted about the things left undone at the end of the day.

I wish I knew things, important things — like why the sky’s blue and where time comes from and what this whole life is supposed to mean.

I wish I had answers, like why you sometimes suddenly feel sad and what it would take to make all those feelings go away.

I wish I awoke every day to see the sunrise and didn’t waste so much time, watching TV. I wish I read more and didn’t think of myself as a fake.

I wish I didn’t have to say sorry so often and that I could always arrive on time to everything, that I would be the one person who never disappointed the people he cared about.

I wish wishes made things come true, that I wouldn’t have to work so hard for the things I want and wouldn’t be so disappointed to discover when they came true that they weren’t really worth the cost.

I wish wisdom came at birth and we all grew up backwards, so we could enjoy the best things last. Yes, I wish life were one long dessert that never made us sick, no matter how much we consumed.

But often I’m disappointed by how little reality aligns with what I want, no matter how hard I wish.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason for that.

Perhaps my wishes shouldn’t be for me. Maybe there’s no genie granting what we want and all this pain has a purpose. Maybe the hard things and the times when we don’t get what we want actually make us better.


Then again, maybe wishing is what makes us human and those disappointments give us something to live for tomorrow.

Who knows.

Until I do, I’m gonna keep wishing, anyway.


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