Hey There, Where Ya Goin'... Not Exactly Knowin'?

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a truck driver. No shit. I thought there could be nothing more bitchin' than traveling around the country in a big-ass big rig with a chimpanzee at my side. We’d hit the open road and roll/bounce from town to town, getting into whatever misadventures we found, including brief encounters with sexy bearded men in plaid flannel and faded denim. Unfortunately, I’m a terrible driver, and monkeys make bad travel companions, and at the end of the day, I was just watching far too much BJ and the Bear. So I traded that dream in and became a traveling salesman, hitting the open road (one open road) in a big-ass Ford Taurus that seats about 20. I haul books along one stretch of highway, from town to town, college to college, trying to sell textbooks to professors who don’t want them. Is it the worst job in the world? No way, but 4 wheels is a lot less than 18, and a laptop in the passenger seat is a lot less furry than a chimp.

I imagine that if I’d wanted to be a rock star, I’d be playing a rendition of Marky Mark's Good Vibrations on a piano in the mall by now. If I’d dreamed of painting The Next American Masterpiece or Antimasterpiece, I’d have found steady work scribing weekly specials on a chalkboard at my local Trader Joe’s. But I wanted to be a truck driver, and I suppose this job is my equivalent consolation prize for such lofty aspirations. It makes me wonder if there’s room in the world for all our dreams, and also whether “what do you want to be when you grow up?” is a fair question. Should kids be relied upon to make such crucial decisions given the information available to them. I mean, what does a four year old know about how hard it is to stay on the right side of a double yellow line?

Are there even enough spaces in the world of dreams realized to accommodate all the little critters vying for them? And what should you do if you find yourself in one of the soul-numbing consolation slots? Is it better to keep striving like Sisyphus or convince yourself to acquiesce into your given groove? Should you concede defeat in your chosen arena and seek refuge in greener pastures, like the TSA job board? Of course there are other alternatives. There will always be ads on Craigslist seeking “[failed] Rockstar to manage our fast-paced office, must be AMMMMMMAAAAZING and willing to work for minimum wage,” but where’s the middle ground? There has to be some way to make a living wage, and something to sit behind during all those hours of your life that should’ve been spent behind an oversized steering wheel. There...has to, right?