the greater adventure

Want to know what a bad esophagus looks like? I'm sure you do.
That stricture is about 3 vertebral bodies, which is just shy of the size of the gap she was born with. Scar tissue doesn't move, it doesn't have muscle, it doesn't have anything to help fluid or food move toward the stomach. Its just a corridor of flesh. That x-ray means a world of trouble for this little girl.

So I've always lived with the idea to 'live like a poet.' Missing no experiences, no adventure missed, seeking knowledge and truth and love. Be not like dumb, driven cattle; Be a hero in the strife! Carpe diem, and all that. I have envied poets' and artists' lives, even if they were short (almost always to tuberculosis, right?) because they lived fully. Like Edna St. Vincent Millay.
But I don't come from poet stock. My people are the dutiful, faithful, family and God-oriented folks. I have been taught that the most important endeavor I could possibly do is to raise a family in goodness, and sacrifice all to do it. And I have.
Edna St. Vincent Millay never worried over a sick child for hundreds of days without end. Or spent eight months straight going to the hospital to visit her vulnerable little baby. She never helped a five-year-old navigate social constructs of kindergarten.
Those poets whose lives and passion I admire have, for the most part, missed an entire world of experiences that come with responsibility and dutiful family life, and it seems to me they have missed the greater adventure.

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