I'm in the kitchen writing down a wish list of at least 100 things I want to to. I'm supposed to let ideas flow without any constraints on whether they will be possible to achieve or not. A mouse is spying me from below the oven and I pretend not to see him, I don't want to scare him. Writing this list is harder than I thought. I start to search for old poems on my iPhone, The Road Not Taken comes first, then I jump to Whitman to finish with Annabel Lee. I take a bite of my ham and melted swiss sandwich, and play a 90's song on my phone while I decidedly continue with the so-called list. Trips, classes, new languages, lots of love, some discipline, my own business, a life filled with art and dance, family, health, the perfect job, time to spare. By item #56 I start being repetitive, now a trip to Turkey leads me to drinking a coffee at a coffee shop in Beirut, and from there I jump to participating in a film production. Suddenly I go back to a recent comment left on my blog that still strikes me: What are you planning Brenda? What is there beneath the surface? The truth is I don't know. It's not what you have, but what you do with it that counts. I stop writing and take another bite of my sandwich before it is too cold.