I was sitting by a fire with a friend, talking about life plans (I'm one of those people that finds small talk dull, and am much more into big talk), and I explained to her that I felt like that there were so many things I wanted to do, and that I had gotten to the realization and acceptance that there were certain lives I wouldn't be able to live. In explaining this -- and it is for sure, my own fault in not being able to express myself clearly, she became quite defensive of my own lifestyle and argued that I could do it all.
But that's not what I mean. It's just impossible! The numbers are against you. I think it would be truly fascinating to be a postman for a bit, and a professor, and an animal trainer (oh, and there's so many within that!), and a pilot (also within this, helicopters, jet planes, etc), and an engineer, and an architect (of skyscrapers and tiny homes and really efficient malls), and someone who makes paper, and a weaver, and the person that comes up with the names of paint (or nail polishes, etc), and a location scout for big budget movies, and a bike taxi driver (there must be another name for that), and a chef, and the person that designs the schedules for airplane travel (I have a fascination with schedules and logistics), and a coffee roaster, and a sommelier, and a bartender, and a park ranger, and a locksmith... I could keep going, I really could. And it's really not a dissatisfaction with what I have and what I do. If I died tomorrow, I'd be sad but not totally upset. I've done a lot! And again, this is what I mean... I do not want to die (arguably, ever), but if I did, I wouldn't be exploding with regret. Just like when I say that it's impossible for me to do it all, it is no way an injustice to things I have done. It's just a thought.