Had no places to go. Certainly had chores to do on the to do list. And, since the crack of dawn, went about my day. Not until late afternoon did I remember, “I have to write a blog.” I’m genuinely impressed that I focused so hard on my other activities, all responsible I assure you, that I plum forgot.
So, what is this I’m doing here? What is the significance of this goddamned blog and, more generally, why do I need another project to dedicate my time to on an already full plate? The simple answer: because I promised myself. A little more in depth: I feel as though a large portion of my adulthood has been chaotic and scatter brained. As soon as I picked up a skill, a direction, or inspiration, I’d have to put it down because real life distractions would demand so. Miscalculations, crisis, opportunities, plainly speaking, life happened.
My twenties were spent loftily chasing a dream with no foot in reality. Trying to master too many skills, go in too many directions at once, and trying to figure out why I kept stumping. My thirties were spent sulking and looking for a compromise. My direction was unclear, here is where I experimented more with being a responsible employee and mate. Many efforts went to abandoning useless skill sets, compromising others, and learning the pragmatism. It took some time.
Round about to now, I’m mrm, 40-billionish years in age. Armed with some perspective. Time is limited as is health. Finances are fine, but will it be enough when time and health dwindle further? Retirement isn’t so far off. So, my head space is towards making one last career change then keeping that career until retirement. Because, in all likelihood, this will be my final chance to do so. As important, if not more so, is respecting that time and keeping on top of health. It’s gonna dwindle any way you cut it, but the effects can be defied. And with that defiance, improving the quality of what’s left.
The last decade in the healthcare field, I got to see up close the mistakes of others. Among the ones that stuck were the undeserving who got cancer, had a stroke, or contract parkinson’s and the subsequent struggles. Bad luck, and my heart goes out to them. Among the others that stuck, the persons I’m alluding to in this paragraph, were the repeat patients who gave up and were in a state of willful decay. The diabetics too set in their ways to pay attention to a blood sugar of 250 (high) while insisting on more ice cream. The morbidly obese who are too large to reach their own privates yet eerily comfortable asking a stranger to reach down there. The repeat druggies and alcoholics who, visit just long enough to catch their wind, before running out to get blasted again. Rinse, repeat.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I can’t afford to be a victim of circumstance. I can’t afford to give up. Even the worst comes to be, I can say, I can know, that despite it all, I tried. And this blog, this is me trying.