Aspirations

I’d like to win the Nobel Prize for Literature, but only so I could turn it down like Jean-Paul Sartre or Bob Dylan.  

It would be cool to be the first person on Mars, but mainly so I could leave behind the billionaires who arrived on the space ship with me.

To defeat death is a worthy aspiration, but if you did so, then you’d fail in the effort, wouldn’t you?

When I was little, I wanted to grow up to be a doctor; now that I’m big, I’d be happy with just having a primary care physician who would see me occasionally.

I hope to die with all my own teeth; if that’s not possible, I guess I’ll settle for all my own fingers.

Many people want to be rich and famous; not me; rich is plenty.

My goal is to read 100 books this year; do matchbooks count?

I’d like to learn to play the piano before I die; I’ll wait for the terminal diagnosis to start practicing.

Sky-diving is not on my “bucket list;” not having a “bucket list” is, though.

I don’t want to die alone; but if the alternative is to expire at the hands of violent zombies, I’ll take it.

I would like to be remembered as someone memorable, preferably by people who haven’t lost their memories.

I want to have made the world a better place as a result of my life; failing that, I suppose making it a better place because of my death would be okay.

I had hoped to be an Olympic hopeful; now, I’ll settle for simply not being hopeless.

I’ve made my peace with not seeing world peace in my lifetime; fingers crossed that I miss out on World War III, as well.

I’d like to write a published novel.  I’m thinking Tolstoy’s War and Peace would be a good one.

If all else fails, at least I hope to end this piece right here.