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.