White Russians

Ambition.  It’s still dark out and I’m deep in my covers listening to a podcast about ambition, people reflecting on their lives at age 60 who had huge lofty goals as teenagers but didn’t achieve them. 

I don’t remember having any goals as a teenager, besides making it through the next Saturday night bash.  Life was measured by hot looking men on dance floors and mastering the art of free drinks.  

How it evolved seems fuzzy, maybe from sucking down too many White Russians (while screaming “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”) But I must have wanted something out of life?  Other than a better cure for hangovers? 

Now that I’m closing in on 60, faster than I care to admit, my goals are still about the perfect buzz.  Only now, it’s about pushing my body to the perfect edge, to find that euphoria, before it self destructs. Before I end up injured or toast myself to where I have no energy.  

Other goals are about the buzz of giving back, making a difference, sometimes in the smallest manner. Like to smile and still believe when everyone else is losing hope. I don’t believe the world is ending, the economy is tanking, or people are all evil.  Are people suffering? People have always suffered. 

I write this and just laugh.  Am I naive? Maybe …. But life has turned out amazing. I know it won’t last forever, but I’ll just keep on dancing and singing “Girls, just wanna have fun.” That’s really my only true ambition.  So I guess nothing really has changed except the number of White Russians I suck down in an evening. 

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