So What’cha Want?

I’ve got Beastie Boys in my head now, how about you? Great. Let’s talking about WANTING stuff.

Canada’s super. We’re a pretty socially liberal country, enjoy a lot of freedoms, and our prime minister snuggles pandas on his off time.

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But every winter, I grumble. I put on seventeen layers. I claim I’m going to try to again to love winter sports. And then I start looking at unaffordable real estate in non-arctic climates.

I want.

 

Last weekend MLC and I were wandering a giant mall with our 5yo while the 7yo was at a birthday party. We came upon a most amazing toy store with an ENTIRE ROOM FULL OF BEANIE BOOS. I think the Little Miss stopped breathing for a moment.

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She wanted.

 

After a difficult day at work, MLC will come home and plan vacations we don’t always go on as a pick-me-up. We haven’t driven through Germany in a new car fresh from the factory. We aren’t currently in Hawaii. We still haven’t gone to New York.

He wants (me too! I wants too!)

 

A few times a year, Lego sends us a catalogue. It goes straight into the hands of our 7yo, while the rest of us peer over his shoulder, trying to take a gander at the new products.

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He is filled with so much want.

 

All of this wanting makes me feel guilty. I worry that I’m not appreciating what I have. I become irrationally concerned that if we found golden tickets, we would not make it out of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory without succumbing to a terrible accident.

And then I remember going on a hike in Oahu last fall. I recall how I’d never seen such gorgeousness layered and compacted into one area in all my life. When the ground became too slippery or too steep, I remember wanting to see what was around the next bend. I remember wanting to reach the waterfalls that were promised to us at the top.

As I outline my next book, I’m deciding what my main character needs. I’m figuring out what she wants. Those are the elements that propel her story forward, after all.

So maybe all of these wants don’t make us shallow or materialistic. Maybe the sheer act of wanting is the fuel for our stories, pushing us to work harder and to find new paths.

Yes, I want. But the act of wanting is pushing my tush forward–and that’s better than sitting still for the rest of my life.

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