In a Hurry to Farm

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Don’t tell my children….but sometimes, I’m flailing.

Now, if you do it slowly enough, flailing looks like considered forward momentum.

But it’s really flailing.

Flailing….falling….failing….

Tomato….toemahto.

Who wants to hear that, though?

Better to just rest somewhere in what looks like a career….stick with the thing that pays the bills and that makes it appear that you’re solid and have some sort of clue.

That’s the way to roll….hiding in plain sight, flailing forward.

I think that the way to roll would be to embark on a new venture with a really high start-up cost…doing something that I have no experience doing and that doesn’t have any promise of success.

That sounds like becoming a parent….but that’s not what I’m talking about.

I SHOULD BECOME A FARMER!!!

Or….maybe an astronaut.

An astronaut would be cool to be.

Maybe I should just buy a tractor somehow and drive it around.

That would be kind of like being a farmer.

I could wear my overalls and put a piece of straw in my mouth….and drive my tractor.

Thank goodness that a child’s measure of a parent’s competency is whether or not they can buy the cotton candy at the circus for them.

It’s really pretty simple for a child.

When you get down to it, though, I’m kind of like Popeye.

I am what I am….and that’s all I am.

Really.

That’s it in a nutshell.

I could farm something, though.

What could I grow that would have a really high monetary return?

Organic garlic?

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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