I like the idea of a lot of things.
I like the idea of hiking, heading out into the wilderness, soaking in nature. But, I don’t like to sweat that much. And going up hills is hard. And breathing heavily in front of people is just embarrassing. Also, I’m not really sure what poison ivy looks like.
I like the idea of camping, circling around a campfire, roasting marshmallows, sleeping beneath the stars with only a sleeping bag between me and the earth. But, the ground is hard to sleep on, and racoons give me the creeps, and what if a serial killer is hiding in the woods over there. 
I like the idea of having dinner parties, friends gathered by candlelight, laughing, toasting, leaning back at the end of the meal, bellies full. But then I have to clean my floors, and my tables and my clutter and vacuum and dust and wipe down the toilets. And also, my specialty of air-frying take-out isn’t really dinner party-worthy.
I like the idea of being a morning person, taking coffee to the front porch, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up, maybe spreading the newspaper out on the table in front of me. But, I don’t drink coffee or subscribe to the newspaper, plus my bed is so cozy and instagram reels are so funny and I like to stay up so late.
I like the idea of breweries, crowding around a table with friends with a flight, comparing the ales to the stouts to the IPAs. But, I hate the taste of all those and ultimately I say to the bartender “What’s the closest you have to a pilsner or a light beer” when really what I mean is “Do you have Miller Lite.”
I like the idea of a garden, of being a gardener, hands in the soil, growing enough zucchini to burden the neighbors and enough tomatoes to make salsa to give as gifts. But the deer stalk our neighborhood, trotting through yards like stray dogs, and the soil is too something, making even tomato plants wilt and wither, and the sun is hot on my neck, and I don’t even like tomatoes that much.
Sometimes I like the idea of being someone else, someone I might have imagined being in my teens when watching The Big Chill or St. Elmo’s Fire or any movie that made life look different from what I saw around me. But, one of the gifts of time is getting comfortable with who I am, leaning into the parts of myself that are real and true. It’s drinking the Miller Lite at the brewery and sitting on my porch in the evening and planting flowers in pots on my porch and taking the easy trail at the Nature Center and having friends over for pizza and making s’mores out back but sleeping in my own bed. It’s being comfortable in my skin.
I like the idea of me as I am.
