A white house

Do you ever worry that you’re just the fun interlude in someone’s life? Do you worry that you’re the one they date until they settle down with someone who’s better at coloring inside the lines? You know, someone who wants to walk down the aisle in a white dress, someone who wants to raise overachieving kids and send them to serious colleges, someone who wants to buy a house and paint it white.

And there’s nothing wrong with a white house (depending on which president America elected this time), but I’ve never been good at staying inside the lines. I’ve never been good at picking a box and sticking to it.

If I get married, I’ll create a whimsical wonderland for my wedding guests, with interactive challenges, surprises around every corner and a winning prize at the end that will probably involve a pint of Guinness. I’ll say my vows in an ethereal rainbow tulle dress because I don’t relate to the concept of purity of a traditional marriage. What does purity even mean? We’re born into a world splashed with color from the history of our families, the way we’re raised, the choices our siblings make, the countries we grow up in.

If I have kids, I’ll raise them to question the milestones society says we should achieve. I’ll push them to do something with their life, to be active in their own story, but in a way that makes sense to them. I’ll tell them everyday that they don’t need to achieve big things or to leave a mark on thousands of people, that being alive and being kind is more than enough.

If I buy a house, it’ll be a sun filled plant filled apartment (I can’t fathom maintaining an entire house) with wooden floors and fluffy rainbow rugs and a roof terrace. A place whose layout I’ll rearrange every spring.

And that sounds fun to me. And I believe it sounds fun to those around me, right now. But I can’t shake the little voice. The one that can suffocate me on a beautiful day with my closest friends. She whispers that my loved ones like it now, but expect me to grow out of it. She murmurs that one day I’ll just be a memory of when they were young. They’ll recall me fondly and wonder if I ever bought that rainbow place. And then they’ll go to bed in their beautiful white house, smile at the wedding picture of someone in a puffy white ball gown on their night stand and fall asleep.

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