So lately I have been thinking. I nearly always think, but recently I have been pondering specifically about my current psychological state as it applies to the aging process, and coming to terms with the fact that I am slowly but surely growing into a full blown adult. It has been almost more of a dreaming than a thinking, where I begin to imagine my life beyond Ventura (basically my life beyond the next 18 days). Some of it is easy to imagine: taking New York by storm, assimilating into the urban chic culture, and studying my brains out at one of the foremost intellectual institutions in the world. Beyond that, however, is where I get caught up. My mind naturally continues beyond New York, seeing myself studying in Paris, law school in some other exotic land (Oxford, perhaps, or maybe Washington or Boston). I fantasy continues; I see myself joining Lawyers without Borders, moving to Paris (or maybe the Hague), spending extended amounts of time in Africa, the Middle East, or Latin America. My ambitions are endless, stopping only when I become the Secretary of State (during the Senning administration, naturally, where there may or may not be some personal attachment/larger story to be told). Even after that I know that I will have to write my memoirs, which is why I must continue to hone my personal composition skills.
This dreamland of mine is quite fine and dandy. I am content to stay there in the clouds all day, until someone knocks me fervently from my high pedestal by mentioning something about marriage or children. This just baffles me. More than one person has mentioned to me that I would make a great wife (read: primary breadwinner), and some have even gone so far as to mention parenthood. An unnamed source has gone into uncharted territory by hinting at upwards of 6 children. I am unsure if I am the only one that noticed, but my little aforementioned plan included only moi (overlooking the slight foray into the fantasy Senning administration rendezvous). Whenever I have seriously considered my romantic life of the future, I have always either seen brief stints of love broken up by long periods of grand distances, or a man who is artistically and creatively inclined to follow me around the globe. Perhaps a filmmaker, novelist, journalist, or another humanitarianly-minded lawyer. Even a sexy corporate lawyer content to be absorbed in his work when I spend weeks away from our swanky, but small and cozy urban apartment. I do not so much imagine myself to have a lack of romantic life, but one secondary to the true love of my life, cosmopolitan, intellectual humanitarianism.
I have never seriously considered having children. Ever since I discovered the process by which a child is removed from the womb, I have had absolutely zero interest in ever experiencing such a thing. I am not sure if I am too much or not quite enough self absorbed to wish that a large part of my life be dedicated to raising offspring of my own. I question whether I am more interested in the world according to Shane or in saving the world, but either extreme leaves no room for me to be popping out babies like June Cleaver or Carol Brady. No way, no how. I absolutely despise the thought of being preggers, getting fat, stretching out, having my emotions run rampant, and then at the end having to push a whole living baby out from that little hole down there. Need I even mention the fact that the world is far past the point of overpopulation, with plenty of children out there in need of parents.
I have, of course, had the thought periodically that I might simply be psychologically unfit to consider children at this point in my life. Young adulthood is a largely independent state, and as I age and grow out of this, I might find myself more willing to settle down. Coming out of my current self and looking past the next few years and ambitions, assuming I do find someone to follow me around the world, I still am unable to see myself wanting to have a kid. Realistically, I do think I would like to adopt (Angelina style, but not so gaudy as Madonna's publicity stunt). If I were to find myself in the right situation, and find the right little person, I can see myself as a mother of a child or two. From my experience with only children, I would never subject a child of mine to such an abhorrent life, so I guess I am stuck at two. Two is my limit, however. More than two is about as damaging as only one, not to mention would drive me crazy.
Now that I have gotten this futuristic rant out of my system and logically organized in a way that never would have been pieced together sans written words, I guess I should start putting the word out: looking for an ambitious, confident, attractive male willing to travel the world with me, okay with not passing on his family lineage, and preferably fluent in two or more languages. Knowledge of mechanics, world affairs, music, literature, and/or basic fashion also earns points. Turn offs include, but are not necessarily limited to: desire to be in any way suburban, any sort of lasting affinity towards frozen/fried foods, obsessions with network reality shows, having a pathetically boring family, or any isolationist tendencies whatsoever. Adding to the pluses category: I would not mind dating a chef. Sometimes I think it would be cool to be the gorgey SVU lawyer married to Bobby Flay. She's got her shit together.