Vicariosity.

My friend M told me she's living vicariously through me.

I laughed, but I guess I get it. I go on dates - hell, I get ASKED on dates. It's new and awesome for me too. I go on adventures, I drink, I suffer hilarious misfortunes and make hilarious mistakes. I dated a French guy, then went through the most absurdly romantic breakup ever. I had three guys profess varying degrees of love for me IN ONE DAY. Not gonna lie, my life has an awesomeness to it.

But M? M has a husband and two girls. Her oldest is shy, quiet - so much that if you can make her crack a smile it's like winning the lottery. Her youngest is five and hilarious in that way we forget how to be as we get older. She tells stories about horses on toilets and she can knock the wind out of you with a hug.

J has a husband a teen, and an almost-teen. They're beautiful and funny and melodramatic - red-headed chaos incarnate, x2. The oldest is dating now - every day is a potential roller coaster, where the highs are a joy to behold and the lows break your heart. The youngest isn't quite there yet, she's still random and wild and silly. She always has a comeback and it usually makes you laugh til you cry.

R's husband can play the dulcimer. Her oldest is a girl and she's teaching herself Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic. Her middle son can communicate with fireflies with a flashlight and wants a pickaxe in case a tornado traps the family in the basement. Her youngest made a jetpack for a stuffed hummingbird.

Who's living vicariously here?

I think I'm seeing this guy. He said life is over by the time you're 33, when you're married and you have kids. Now I see the appeal in drinking til 3 AM, sleeping half the day, doing whatever sounds good at the moment. But there's more to life than that.