I stopped thinking about specifically who and what I wanted for my life and just started thinking about what I hoped it would look like. There was this woman holding a glass of white wine at a networking thing. The space was neat and industrial – exposed brick, polished concrete floors, slick steel finishes, exposed beams. Anyway the five-o-clock sun came through and hit her glass at an angle so that the white wine looked more like a bunch of diamonds had melted into a big, liquidy puddle in her glass, and I thought that I needed to be drinking a glass of what looks like melted diamonds right before the sun sets in some thoughtful, inspiring place, maybe Europe, soon. I thought about the tiles on the wall in my future kitchen. What would the tiles look like? Maybe a backsplash made up of small black and white octagonal tiles would be really nice. Maybe I would have a big window right above the sink where I could watch someone I love reading a book I wrote in the backyard. After that I would go pick up some flowers or get coffee or do something that always looks really artsy on all of the blogs I follow but actually just makes me feel lonely, like read in bed or put on an expensive sweater, but maybe then, after my time in Europe and my black and white kitchen and my somebody reading a book I wrote, all of the things that make me feel lonely won’t, anymore.
Rather than think, I hope to find adventure and happiness and love, I think: I hope to find white wine, and a big window, and someone who likes me and my silly expensive sweaters.