the truth of the matter is, i'll probably never be a postwoman in pendleton or a mango-picker in miami. i'm sure i could be either if i wanted to be. i'm sure both lives would be somewhat intriguing, in fact. but alluring as they may be, they're somewhat low on my list of priorities. some people wish they wer a cat, so that they'd be granted 9 lives. i'm sure i wouldn't be satisfied if granted a feline's share of existences, however. besides the fact that i'm a believer in reincarnation, i would want to live all of my lives with this brain, in this body, with this set of ethics and values. yes, my goal may sound futile, but rest assured: i've no grand delusions of actually achieving it. i know i could never stomach the whole meal, so i've settled for some extensive sampling. that's where all the travelling, the moving around, comes in. the constant transition in my life is a lot less similar to putting on masks than it is to trying on dozens of pairs of jeans to find one that fits perfectly. you might luck out and find some that hang on your butt kinda nicely. some are slightly too baggy or a bit too tight, but they'll suffice because they're the best of the bunch. once in a great while you're certain you've found the most ideal pair of jeans in the world, but then you fall and skin your knee, and they tear open. or maybe you gain ten pounds. or maybe you move to arizona in the summer and decide that the denim is much too hot. then you begin the search for the new pair, which you'll eventually find, and when you do you'll swear that it's just as perfect as the beloved pair you left behind. maybe more so. all the little slivers of the pie of life that i've sampled up until now have been just the right flavor to satisfy me at the time. but times change, and tastes change, and jeans are outgrown.