Be careful what you hunger for; it’s very often not what you need

There was a very brief period when I passionately wished I could have her back. It’s been so long that I have trouble remembering when it was. Maybe a dozen years ago? I’m not sure.

I no longer think about her very often — although I’ve written about her before — but I dreamed about her Tuesday night. I have no idea why. As I thought about the dream right after I woke up this morning, my first thought was, “Be careful what you wish for, David.”

In the dream, I still lived in the townhome where I lived for about 20 years in another Birmingham suburb. We had just married and she had moved in with me — but it felt more like a nightmare than a dream.

The narrative was less about her than it was about what she was doing to the space in which I lived. It felt very symbolic of something dark and dangerous going on in my mind and heart.

She had moved so much stuff into my old place that it was absolutely stuffed. I had gotten rid of some of my own things, but she had moved so much in that the place felt claustrophobic. I could barely walk. The floors and walls and furniture were all covered with things that weren’t mine — and which felt alien to me.

I felt as though she was ruining everything I had and that she was turning my space into something which didn’t feel like a home anymore. And she ignored everything I had to say. She just didn’t care. As I thought about all that in those minutes after I woke up, I found myself thinking — not for the first time — that I was very lucky that I didn’t get what I thought I wanted years ago.

How do we really know what we want? How do we know what we need?

At various points in my life, I’ve been certain that I wanted this or that. Sometimes it was a particular woman for a relationship. Sometimes it was a career success. At times, it was even a burning desire for certain material things.

But I no longer want most of those things. Not at all.

In some cases, I’ve gotten what I wanted and discovered it wasn’t what I needed. At times, I’ve failed entirely at winning something, but I eventually discovered I would have been unhappy with that thing anyway.

That woman and I would have been unhappy together. Even though I was convinced that I wanted her for that brief period, I understand now that I wanted her because I was afraid nobody else was going to want me. I had lost the woman I had really wanted — and I had run back to the one who had wanted me before.

Eventually, she was wise enough to realize that she would always be my second choice. My back-up plan. So she walked away — which was best for both of us.

When I was younger, I wanted a media empire. I wanted to run a chain of newspapers and other media outlets. Even if I ignore the fact that the newspaper business is essentially dead, I would have been unhappy in that role — building and leading a company. I wanted the fruits of such a position. I wanted the glory and the power and the fame. But I didn’t enjoy the actual work of empire-building.

There are all sort of things I once wanted which I no longer want today. With most of them, I can be very grateful that I never got what I so desperately asked for at the time.

And that leaves me with one obvious question. What about the things that I want today? Am I just as wrong today about what I want? What I need? Maybe I’ll eventually look back at the wants which obsess me today and I’ll think, “I am so lucky that God didn’t give those to me.”

I honestly don’t know.

I like to think I’m finally mature enough to know what’s good for me — what I really want, what I really need — but wouldn’t I have thought the same things 10 years ago? A couple of decades ago? When I was younger and more arrogant?

The only thing useful I can say to myself is that my list of wants and needs is smaller than ever. I don’t care about the fame and power and glory that I once craved. Money is a nice tool — and I wouldn’t mind having more of it — but those sorts of things are useless in bringing joy and peace to my life.

There are a lot of things that would be nice to have, but I can’t say that most of them will matter one way or the other. If they come, great. If not, it doesn’t matter.

The only thing I really need is love.

That sounds like some sort of hippie song lyric from the 1960s — maybe from the Summer of Love — but it’s somehow true, in ways that my younger self wouldn’t have understood.

I need love and all the things which come with it, but if you rightly understand what that is, it’s everything.

I need mutual love and mutual understanding with a wife. I need a family to love and to receive love from. I need a loving community where I really belong. And I need to somehow live my life in a way that allows me to express love and gratitude and joy — and all the things which are bundled up within that.

I still think — at least on some days — that I know the specific things or people which can help me achieve this sort of life. On other days, I want to set all that aside and just seek whatever is mutually best for everybody, not even ask for what I can see in my hopeful dreams.

I do have a fantasy of what my life could look like. The picture is very clear and emotional for me. I’m sure it’s right for me.

But I’ve been sure of other things, too, and they’ve faded away. I’d like to be wise enough to say, “I can’t be sure of what’s best for me and for the people around me, so I have to trust in something larger than myself to bring me to the place I need to be.”

My own plans in the past have been so certain and so definite. In each case so far, though, God has looked at my plans and hopes and dreams — and he’s laughed at my lack of wisdom.