Keep your mid-life crisis to yourself Comments
This is the day I’m supposed to stop and look back in despair.
This is the day I whine because I haven’t written the novel, cured cancer, sat on Oprah’s couch, filled in for Ryan Seacrest, invited to Today Show, published in Time, held my own book signing, given own bobble head day, been asked to cameo or sell my autograph.
It could be argued I haven’t made a difference, succeeded in anything worthwhile or mattered a hill of beans. It could be a day for mourning, to look wistfully on what could have been.
But on this birthday, I choose not to.
I think about getting up to make breakfast for my wife on her birthday.
Watching soccer games in the rain.
Accepting my role as the designated car unloader after trips.
Performing crisis management duties, even long distance.
Feeling a little humbled when somebody says my writing helped lift their spirits.
Watching a child’s face light up when you walk in the classroom.
Listening to a 10-minute story that could be told in two minutes.
Knowing what your son really means when he asks, “you’re not going to tickle me, aren’t you?”
Shocking my wife by turning on the vacuum.
Reaching up to grab the item off the top shelf for a lady.
So they can make all the old jokes they want, verbally sending me out to the scrap heap.
It won’t matter to me. Because in the things that are important, I think I did my best.
That’s something I can live with.
