Sunday night already. It all starts again in a moment.
If I am going to climb this hill, I need better velocity. I now have enough weekends under my belt to know that under the current regime and lifestyle, the important things are not going to get done.
I am going to have to get better than this or the shit will hit the fan, because while I am understanding and try to be flexible, and always have, the same thing cannot be said for others, who will think nothing of turning the cannons on me.
— § —
We hiked to Grotto Falls today. The road was closed, so we had to walk miles on foot, and there was a lot of snow. Add to this the fact that we had a large (and somewhat cowardly) dog in tow.
But we did it. That’s nice. As it gets warmer, opportunities for activity are opening back up again. On that count, it’s nice that spring is back.
In terms of “my time left,” however, it’s not so nice. I’m running out of time. I feel it every day.
All of the mid-life advice is geared toward people who have “made it” in life—it’s all a lot of “What do you do now that you find out that financial security doesn’t actually make you all that happy?” and the answer is always some variant of “Give up on the pursuit of material things, you have more than you need, spend time focusing on the spiritual and meaningful sides of life.”
There is precious little out there for “So your midlife crisis consists of the fact that now, in your 40s, with a reasonable career, you are in worse financial shape than you have ever been in your life, and you will likely not climb out of it before the day you die. What do you do?”
The whole “focus on other things” angle is nonsense when you are working night and day to ensure that there is food to eat and a car to drive.
If I had come from a different background, had a different political and educational history, I would easily be a Trumpite right now.
The divide between the “haves” and the “have-nots” is all too obvious, and it is only the former that get to worry about meaningful things, stages of life, legacy that one leaves, and so on. The latter are presumed to be like little clockwork mechanisms.
“Oh, they’re just going to keep puttering on trying to feed themselves. No need to provide any thought or insight to them; they’re sorts of automotons, you see—they got wound up once and they’ll just keep hopping along in sustenance mode until, at end of life, they wind down. They’re not who needs speaking to or writing for.”
— § —
It’s also entire likely that people have nothing to say to people like me because there is nothing to say, except “Yeah, that sucks, bro!” and “Shoulda been born rich I guess, them’s the breaks.”
— § —
Every Sunday night I have it again—not dread of a work-week to come, but frustration at having used up all of my time before the housecleaning was even done.
Don’t even get to the looming home and life maintenance tasks. Much less yardwork.
And nevermind about—just laugh and forget about—the career and personal growth tasks that really matter.
Something’s gotta give.