A melancholy Birthday

I am pensive about having spent 37 years on this planet, and about what may lie ahead.  Feeling a little blah about it, frankly.  I've never been one to dread getting older.  It's better than the alternative.  I believe "the rest of my days can be the best of my days."  I fully intend to get the most out of each year.

That said, today I've thought a lot about the things I haven't done.  Dreams that seem to be out of reach because basically I didn't do the legwork when I had the chance.  Yes, of course I could do it now, but not without great sacrifice from my family.  I am comparing myself to other people my age who have grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns.  Comparisons are never smart. 

I'm still digesting the impulsive career move I made in January.  It was a smart move, but somewhat less than lateral.  I'm no longer moving upward professionally, but I can still move forward.  And I can also choose to move in a completely different direction if I want.  (Likely with financial consequences.)

There is so much I still want to do.  I guess the thing to do is rank them according to priority and get crackin'.

It is trite and a bit unrealistic to make a goal out of a wildest dream.  Wildest dreams are wild like the ponies at Chinqoteague or Corolla, they are quite difficult to catch.  But, Birthdays are for wishes, right?

So, here goes.  I wish to become a fiction author who makes just enough money to work when I want and pursue a hobby in community theater, without cost to my family.

Picture me blowing out my candles here.