Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

And I have come to the conclusion that that’s too long to not live the way I want to live.

I wouldn’t say I’ve had an epiphany, as there’s been no single moment of revelation. More like a few recent, seemingly-disparate events culminating in a subtle but life-altering shake-down.

In August I turned 39. Which means next August, I will turn 40. Yeah, forty might be the new thirty and all that stuff, but do the math - it still means that one’s life is roughly half over. Which means goodbye to the comforting delusion that one has all the time in the world.¹

I am not afraid of “aging.” What scares me is aging desperately. I’m not there yet, but it would only be a short trip.

If you read my NaNoWriMo rant in November, you know I’ve had a troubled relationship with my writing - oh hell - with my creativity in general. My studies in Armchair Psychology lead me to conclude I’ve been unconsciously waiting for Someone’s approval.  NaNoWriMo gave me “permission” to write crap and enjoy it. The experience was bittersweet: submerging myself in imagination and creation was wonderful, but getting out of the pool left me cold and goosepimply.

Once life had the Writer in me by the short hairs, it grabbed for the Artist. I got a new job - one that not only pays me to write, but also to play around with Photoshop and Dreamweaver. I am equal parts thrilled and chagrined. I’ve wanted to learn both programs for a long time but couldn’t justify buying the expensive software “just for me.” ²

Another dip in the water - it’s bracing this time of year.

Of course, just as my metaphorical heart begins to beat again, my flesh and blood one starts giving me trouble.

There’s a chance my congenital valve problem may be coming back to haunt me. Until I see a cardiologist on January 8th, I won’t know if it’s truly serious. But I can say right now that whatever havoc is being wreaked in my chest has brought a new appreciation for my health.

I’m not just talking about the 5ks and barbells. I mean the general physical well-being I’ve had for the majority of my relatively pain-free, fatigue-free life. Some days, pain and fatigue make aiming for the wastebasket seem impossible, let alone the stars.

Well, nothing lights a fire under an uppity Rib like the impossible.

Today is the first day of the first year of the rest of my forty or fifty-odd years.

I can spend them working for The Man and passively consuming other people’s creativity, then retire with my gold watch and second-hand memories.

Or I can get back in the pool.

Now for the important question: Bikini, one piece, or birthday suit?

I’ll try them all. I have time.

1. I heard a similar clock-ticking when I turned 35 and realized if I wanted kids, I needed to get on the stick, so to speak. But that crisis was resolved in one trip to the mall. [↩]
2. I don’t even want to talk about how lame that looks in print. [↩]

Filed under 9 to 5, NaNoWriMo, Uppity Me, Writing |