Somewhere on the internet is one of those silly tests that determine random and usually unimportant things (like “What kind of superhero are you?”). This one is “How will you die?” I took it months and months ago and while I was trying really hard to score “You will be eaten by an animal” I always get “You will disappear.” One day, it seems, I’m just going up and vanish without a trace and people will wonder what ever happened to that Scott guy?
It actually wouldn’t surprise me. Oh, I mean, it would surprise me if I vanished without a trace, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I went missing for a day or two and no one noticed till the neighbor’s realized that Kai hadn’t been out of the apartment. I tend to do things without telling a lot of people. I live alone, after all, and a great many of my favorite things are things I can do quite happily alone eat out, see movies, wander around lost in a book store or record shop. Throw in the “prep for comps” time of sitting alone in a library or at my computer and I can go for days without talking to a soul.
Should this bother me? Sometimes I think it should. Usually I don’t think too much about it all, truth be told. Usually I’m pretty content, happy even, with my life and routine and get enough of my social fix via neighbors or the occasional night out with friends. So sitting around at home, even on a weekend, alone doesn’t seem like the end of the world to me.
But lately I’ve been wondering if I really will end up disappearing. And how long it would take for anyone to notice. Am I going to end up the lone and recluse scholar as I’ve hoped and feared? Maybe it’s just October talking, that time of the year when I get retrospective in the month leading up to my birthday, that time when I second-guess my choices out of some strange mortal fear of aging. Is this where I really wanted to be when I was thirty-one?
Of course. My choices were half chance. So are everybody else’s. Is anyone really where they thought they’d be? Exactly, anyway. I’m sure there’s an investment banker out there somewhere, right now, who’s thinking to him/herself, “Well, I pretty much knew I’d be an investment banker, but I didn’t expect to be living in this neighborhood.” And I suspect that the biggest difference between me and investment banker is that I never really pictured where I’d be when I was about turn thirty-two. When I was a kid, the farthest ahead I ever imagined was twenty-one.
And really, given where I am, although it isn’t perfect, I can certainly think of worse states to be in. All in all, things are going pretty well for me. And I think I need to do my best to keep the autumn blues from consuming me this month.
I’ve got better things to do.