The Collision of Wants and Desires

On choices and perspective

There’s a certain feeling I get while driving across the lengthy stretches of road in the American southwest.  Surrounded by miles upon miles of desolation with jagged mountains framing the skyline far off in the distance. A straight stretch of highway pointing toward an unseen destination somewhere in the folds of the hazy landscape.

It makes you feel tiny, inconsequential, motionless.  Absorbed into the vastness.  Exposed yet hidden.

I recall, a decade and a half ago, mesmerized by this scene and then glancing at my daughter in the passenger seat, deeply absorbed in her book.  This must have been the third she’d tackled on the trip thus far.  Through the rearview mirror, I spotted my son in the back seat immersed in a handheld video game. 

I didn’t want to distract either of them by turning on the radio, although I doubted there were any stations that would reach us so far out into the deserted plains.  Having nothing for my mind to tend to, thoughts began to bubble to the surface.

I didn’t know what I was doing.  At least it felt that way.  I had made painstaking plans for this road trip months prior with just me and my two children, in the hope it would give them positive memories – something that would teach them about the beauty of our national parks, and if things went well, might enhance our bond together.  Maybe I was grasping at straws.

I didn’t plan to be this guy – a broke, single dad trying to get by.  What I’d wanted was a happy life.  To love and be loved.  To be surrounded by people who could see and appreciate my truest intentions and desires, and to be with a partner with whom I could connect on a deeper level to share my exclusive companionship and attention.

Instead, I found myself in my mid-forties in a manic pattern that felt more like a communal collision of wants and desires.  What I had to give evidently wasn’t enough for the obsessive, relentlessly punishing behavior of some, or the shrewd, veiled posturing of others.  I behaved in a manner that focused on the wants and desires of others, in the hope some of that magic might trickle back to me, but instead felt as if one bad outcome after another continued to envelop me.

Feeling gridlocked, I instead decided to focus all my attention on these two preteen souls.  I couldn’t predict the future, but in the transient world of human connection, I hoped they would feel a lasting testament of my love and affections.  I was playing the long game.

So far, we had peered out over the Grand Canyon, climbed through ancient caves, stood under vast arches, and ventured into sacred canyons.  We’d laughed, shared stories, and made lasting memories.  Looking back a decade and a half later, I can validate the wisdom of that decision.  My relationship with both souls remains strong and loving.

At the same time, I can still remember the painful stings of loneliness and misunderstanding, coupled with the burden of having to coolly absorb the unwarranted ire from a few clearly damaged beings.

I suppose this is a testament of character.  Knowing when something isn’t working and then focusing on the limited range of actions one can take to have the most meaningful impact.  Figuring out how to live and breathe and continue waking up in a world that seems to want to strip away what little regard it seems to have for you.

It’s funny, in a way, that years later, many people will later consider me lucky when things finally began to swing my way, not realizing it happened by volition.  By making better choices.  By enduring the pain and then committing to a path out of the darkness, away from a punishing pattern of bad outcomes, and onto a clearer, truer road that has brought me to this wondrous point in my life.

One that allows me to recall this long stretch of highway that seemed to continue indefinitely into the unseen distance and see now that there was an astonishing destination just up ahead.