I wish I were God

I wish I were God.

I know I'm only 23, but there are only 24 hours in a day.

I don’t know what I want, yet there are 73 goals on my list. 

God, just grow up! I tell myself. 

The morning sun creeping into my room is the only time I experience peace. I only get three swift seconds–as my eyes have just opened and I haven’t processed anything, only awakened. Then it all comes crashing. All the lives I can live are calling me. All the things I can do today, all the things I want to do, all of the versions of me I want to be. The desires strangle me and put me in a chokehold, instead, I lay paralyzed.

If I were God, I’d become a writer, economist, professor, surfer, artist, model, and professional athlete. I’d wash my dishes on time, book a flight to Brazil, and trek El Camino De Santiago. I’d call my loved ones and get a PhD. I’d get married and have four kids. I’d live single and happy. I’d be a rich widow. I’d know five languages, and six instruments, and run five-minute miles. 

If I were God, I would have it all figured out and never experience a milligram of doubt. I would know what I want and never feel scattered.

If I were God, I’d be nicer. I wouldn’t try to take the stage. I’d shut up. 

If I were God, I’d live in New York, Italy, Paris, and then retire in South America. I’d drive a moped and fold my clothes on time. I’d complete my to-do list and finish reading all my abandoned books. 

But alas I’m not God. I’m a human and everything I do is utterly imperfect. 

I choose to slow down. Breathe. Accept I will never be omnipotent, I will never be perfect. I will never write all I want to write. I will never see all I want to see. I will never be all I want to be. I will never. There’s a cap to all of me. 

For now, I’ll finish this piece and try to listen more than I talk. I'll take it day by day. I'll accept the good and bad days as they come. I'll lay in bed, satisfied with all I did and didn't do. And I hope that the next day, I'll wake up and try again.