So I got mugged last night. Hit square over the head with a mug—one of those Worlds Greatest Dads mugs.
Clearly he assumed I didn't hold that title, otherwise a knife or a brick would have sufficed, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing and he just couldn't handle another great dad in his midst. Well that’s not how the world works, Man. You can’t suddenly become the WGD simply by hitting someone over the head with a mug.
I’m not even a dad. It’s not that I feel any pressure to be, I mean, I’ve never lived as if I had to be what the world tells me I have to be, but at the same time I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit scared shitless of reaching the end of my life not having anyone to carry on my legacy.
I like kids, that’s the thing, and I’m good with them, because I have a childlike curiosity, but finding someone to have kids with? Now that’s… that just feels all kinds of impossible. Anyway. We all have our crap. I figure if I give and receive love fearlessly, I’m comfortable in the throes of the unknown, and I try and squeeze the enjoyment out of each moment—even when I’m doing my taxes or sitting next to someone on a plane who thinks the entire armrest is theirs—I’ll always, at the end of the day, find some way to be at peace with what I do have, not what I don't.
Life really is that impossibly simple... if it's not simply impossible.