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There was a period of time where I made myself think through what I wanted, realistically, and how to achieve them, ultimately. Were you one of those kids who wanted to set the world on fire and initiate changes for the better, if not for fame then for purpose? I was saddened by how scaled back my plans became once I was a bit ground down by circumstances. Then I set it all aside and half-numbly addressed day-to-day tasks.

Recently, I was in a situation where a man-boy poured his little heart out to me about the woman he hopes will love him back. They'd gone out on dates, although I ascertained that she may not have realized they were dates. Poor lamb. Since the conversation had progressed to the point where I'd become invested in his happiness and wanted this to work out for him, I grilled him about whether he was also considering her interests, if he was more attracted to her looks and common activities than her self, blabbidy blah blah, and what his goals were and whether they meshed with hers. Hey, he seemed to be relieved to unload and I was obliging. Totally not in a twss way. But, the reason I brought that up, he turned the future goals question back to me and caught me flat-footed. I don't think my stammers were a good return answer. I couldn't remember what I'd worked out before, my "realistic" goals. Too much numb trudging.

And then this book. A man dies in middle age and wakes up back in college to live his life again. He works his way through money, sex, children, nihilism, and it turns out that he keeps dying at the same time but wakes up older and older, skipping at first days then years ahead. I liked that it's not as flashy as you'd expect. He didn't suddenly figure stuff out or have circumstances that ridiculously fell into place for good or ill, no more than you can kinda reasonably expect if you had future knowledge. There was still an undercurrent of mediocrity, which made the story work for me. I think the conclusion was to love what you have. That's a message that can survive my numb days.