Living Vicariously vs. Living

Okay, so I’m guilty of the above. Living vicariously, that is. I found this blog a few days ago and I can’t get the whole notion out of my head. You see, this woman, this mother of a young child, this brave, crazy, loving wife, is sorting through all of her possessions for the sole purpose of keeping only what she can carry. That thought alone just sends me in to a consumeristic shock.

But hold on to your shorts, there is a method to her madness. You see, she is removing herself from all that ails her and is relocating her family to the jungle, where meals will be months in the planning, and living in and of itself will become a an act of purposeful determination.

I have to say, my curious nature will keep me checking the blog for updates and in between, I’m sure, will see me daydreaming my way to Belize as well.

I was doomed from the beginning, with the blog’s opening quote, “Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who’ve ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. Our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”

Yes, this mad woman has found a kindred soul in me. And I wish her well!



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