I’m tired. Seriously, I’m really tired. The last few years have been a lot. And that was right after doing a Ph.D. and moving from New York, which followed on the heels of moving to New York, which followed on the heels of rock and roll tours and doing an M.A. blah, blah.
In the space of a decade in a half I’ve lived in Salt Lake City, then Chicago, then Santa Barbara, then Goleta, then Salt Lake City, then Manhattan, then Queens, then Provo. In that span of time I’ve held twenty-one (!) different jobs at different organizations. I entered and exited three serious relationships. I got married. I got divorced. I had two kids. And this doesn’t include any of the details—long trips on the road, sometimes on a bus, sometimes in my own car(s); books written; media appearances; days in classrooms and exams given; cars bought and sold; blah, blah, blah.
It’s just been a lot of stuff. I suppose everyone’s life is like that. Crowded. Busy. But there are definitely times these days when I feel as though I want to retire, I’m ready to retire and just play golf or something. But of course I can’t. I’m not at all in a position to do that.
I need some sort of a vacation. Not like a weeklong-trip-to-Disneyland vacation, but a took-a-year-off-and-backpacked-across-Europe vacation. But I don’t know exactly how that would work. There is not a single circumstance in my life that would be conducive to that sort of thing.
But boy, am I tired.