I shared a room in an Islington row house with another Yalie. From time to time Jacob would stay in London (which unsurprisingly was more of a happenin’ hot spot than Cambridge), and occasionally my roommate would have a friend over as well. A number of late-night confabs inevitably turned to Big Questions.
To the question “What do you want to be?”, most answers aligned with college major: English professor, investment banker, etc. Jacob’s response, however, caught my attention.
“I want to be a father,” he said.
It was so unexpected yet so truthful that I had to rethink my attitude toward these questions, try to encompass a larger panorama. So when Jacob asked what sort of house I wanted to live in, I quashed my immediate impulse. I didn’t describe a My Fair Lady library, express a desire for lots of wood and stone, or hint at secret passageways.
“I want to live on a commune,” I said.