Here is one definition of “life needing to be fixed.”
Very, very often these days sometime between 6:00 and 8:00 in the evening, I want the whole world to stop. When the kids aren’t here, it’s around the time it starts to darken outside. When the kids are here, it’s just after they go to bed.
I find myself wishing that that moment could simply go on forever—that it would never get late, I’d never go to sleep, I’d never wake up in the morning, no new workdays or challenges would ever come, nothing would ever happen. We could declare an end to The Story of Humanity and the World at that moment and just live in that moment eternally—forever almost dark, forever nothing in particular to do or think about, general relief from everything.
Of course, it’s very good that time keeps ticking and tomorrow comes, because otherwise I could get stuck there forever. Time is a way for human lives to actually mean something, whether the humans want them to or not.
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Things that I should do but haven’t yet done for fear of failure (which is new to me, having crept in sometime over the last decade):
- Become a professional photographer.
- Write a novel.
- Start an eBay selling business in earnest.
- Throw out 90 percent of my personal possessions.
- Write a proposal to turn my rapidly aging dissertation into a book.
- Make a new list of things that I want to do before I die.
Consider this to be the “to do bucket list” of the moment.