“Every day is one day less,” as poet Buddy Wakefield said in his terrific piece, “Human the Death Dance,” which I urge you to look past the funky title and check out.

With limited time here as fleshy beings, it’s important to occupy that time with things we’re passionate about, I suppose. Per the definition, passion is a strong and barely controllable emotion. Now, since I tend to stray from letting emotions get the best of me, I’m going to tread lightly with the term – but it fits well here, so I’ll stick with it.

I’m writing this from my back yard, as I attempt to check out the meteor shower currently in progress. I’m either having alright luck, or I need to clean my glasses.

Regardless, it’s got me to thinking, and apparently feeling. Feeling like a pretty happy soon-to-be 25 year old. I’ve got my head on semi-straight, and a solid group of folks that are either family or damn close to it.

My closest friends are grown-ups now. Most of them have the whole nine; husband or wife, a kid or two, house, job, 401k and all that jazz. They’re happy; I’m happy for them.

That life, though … That’s not for me.

What do I want to do with my time here? When I wake up tomorrow and remember that yesterday’s crossed off and it’s a brand new day ... I want adventure.

I want adventure sans diaper changing and bottle sanitizing. I don’t want to spend my Saturday searching for the safest car seat or best breast pump. I’m not checking in with the husband to let him know he’ll be on his own for dinner because I’m getting lost in the woods – but I have to admit I may call him for assistance when I realize I can’t find my way home after hours of trying.

I am free and clear to get in the car after work and drive until I run out of gas. Then fill the tank back up. I can meet countless interesting folks along the way and hear stories I’ll never forget.

If by any chance the man who went by “Double D” from somewhere in Tennessee is reading this, thanks for the watermelon, and for giving out free grilled cheese. Man from Philadelphia begging for change but wearing brand new sneakers … thanks for being appreciative of the Mountain Dew I gave you. They were two for three dollars, and yes, one was enough to keep me awake for the drive home; I still remember your hesitance to accept it as you were afraid I’d get sleepy.

At eighteen I was carefree and full of adventure. I had a car packed full of my closest friends, a few bucks in our pockets, and off we’d go at a moment’s notice.

Seven years later I’m elated I’ve still got that spunk.

Now that’s not to say those who opt for families and children don’t have terrific, fulfilling lives; I’m not saying that in the least bit. They love what they have and what they do, and have adventures of their own. I just love that I don’t have to worry about day care costs right now ... or school registration. When it rains, I go out to play in the puddles by myself – I don’t need a little tyke to give me a reason to.

There’s lots I’d like to see with my limited time here. I’d like to make an impact in a great number of little ways. One day I’ll own some land – seven acres or so – and I’ll grow my own food. Maybe I’ll be totally off the grid and self-sustaining. I’d like to see other countries. I’d like to see voluntary interactions between individuals take place without repercussions. It would certainly be nice for people to get by without initiating force or violence against one another. I’d like to see ideas being shared in a manner that is more cohesive to fostering connections, collaborations, and actual change. And I suppose I’d like to see “Bambi,” because I hear it’s worth the watch.

Back in the day I thought I wanted to be a defense attorney when I “grew up.” When we had our mock trial in high school, I realized speaking in front of people wasn’t my gig, and spent my time as juror number one instead. If I remember correctly, the verdict was not guilty, but I digress.

I’ve found that’s not the life for me. I still want to jump in the car, scoot down to North Carolina to visit a place I’ve never been just because a near-stranger said it’s a beautiful part of the world. I want to pop a coin in an expired meter to spare someone from a ticket based on legislation that’s ridiculous. I want to find secret hidden waterfalls. I want to stop at a coffee shop and throw a couple bucks to the guy playing guitar. I want ice cream twenty minutes before I decide what to make for dinner. If it’s an adventure I can’t physically make it to I donate as much as I can, and am supporting their adventure in spirit.

“The answer,” wrote Wakefield, “The answer comes in the form of a handwritten letter from the moon. It says, ‘This is brutally beautiful. So are we. This is endless. So are we. We can heal this. Signed, Craterface. P.S., See me for who I am. We’ve got work to do.’”

I don’t know. I guess just checking out the sky – and that Craterface up there somewhere (although I can’t see him from my location) has got me to thinking. I don’t dig that whole “white picket fence” sort of life; the wake, work, sleep, nine-to-five thing just to survive isn’t where I want to be. I’m going to live for a living.

I’ve grown up, but I’m hardly a grown-up. And I absolutely love it.

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...@evesunashley