I have sometimes wondered about how my life would be if I was born in the past.
I know that if I was born to a life of luxury all I would do is frolic in darling, delicate dresses, eat cake voraciously and live life without consequences. Seems a bit too much like Marie Antoinette, but dreaming selfishly shouldn’t be a crime, right. *insert rich sounding giggle*. But I’d still be miserable about everything and write sappy love stories or dreaming about intangible stars.
I also know that if I was born poor, I would still be as miserable but would try to make the most of what I have. Dreaming about bread, cake and those intangible stars. Who knows, I could be a writer who wracks their brain everyday about the miseries of life and the only thing to keep me sane was the art of writing which everyone criticized or misunderstood and then one day I’d end myself.
Too Van Gogh huh. But that would be ideal in a sense, right?
But I can’t figure out how I’d make it to my thirty fifth birthday. I have a weak body now and whether I was born a wealthy aristocrat or poor farmer, I’d know that I have little life to live with all the disease and horrors around me. I’d publish my works as fast as I could to make something of myself and continue living a life of lush with what I had or hadn’t.
Even so, I will always dream about those who were able to live a golden life of cake and silk and those who came from nothing and worked their way to the top, having their work known and admired for centuries to come. Perhaps one day, I won’t have to dream about what I yearn for and have my aspirations become reality.