It’s difficult to choose from the plethora of people who seemingly live better lives than mine. Is this something we often think about, though? Because I have never heard myself say I wanted to be someone else. Maybe I might have uttered something in the lines of, “I wish I was like him/her/them/you.” And that’s a different take, isn’t it? I don’t want to be that person, but wish I had their confidence or skill or – I don’t know, chipper demeanor.
It’s not that I’m fully happy with myself – I could use Elon Musk’s bank account or Kayne West’s platform, but use them responsibly rather than spread misinformation and anti-Semitic propaganda. But I’m content enough to know that there is only one me. Not that there aren’t other neurotic, anxiety-filled, possibly-ADHD adult, queer, masculine-presenting people out there. But none of them are me.
And who would I even be? A rock star? Actor? Content creator? Novelist? Poet? It’s definitely not an athlete as I couldn’t name one to save my life. Well, not anyone who is popular at the moment. What about a politician who can fight during a single day to make this country better for everyone?
Better yet, would I want to be someone who fits my biological description? Or would I want to be a woman?
Ask me who I will have dinner with, and maybe I can boil it down to a single person after some time. But this? I don’t have an answer for. Except maybe, I’d be me without the anxiety.
And maybe with a little more money in my bank account, or at the very least, a better budgeter.