I know that, from time to time, I get a little … verbally introspective out loud. Some might call it “whining.” I guess “some” are not wrong, per se, it seems that as I get older, my finding things to complain about gets easier. It’s cliché, really, and I don’t much care for that.
On the other hand, older is supposed to equal wiser and I don’t know that that’s what’s happening. I feel, deep down, that I’ve got a wide intellectual advantage over The Me from 30 years ago, but that He got all the energy and optimism. Ungrateful little shit.
The me from 30 years ago had the long hair, the slim waist, no arthritis, played in a band … today me has a realistic outlook, jaded expectations, and a firm belief that as bad as things are, they can - and will - get worse.
What the hell, right? At least I don’t get surprised as often.
2016 pretty much ended my belief that people, in general, had the capacity for honesty and kindness. I actually thought that people I liked could be trusted because I liked them. It was a year where I bent to outside pressure to delegate responsibilities because “it’s okay to trust people.”
Jesus, that bit me in the ass.
My perfect job was stolen, I lost what I’d thought was a lifelong friend, some certain trusts were blown away personally, and I spiraled into a deep depression that, I am certain, I’d been holding at arm’s length for decades.
You know what got me out? What shook the darkness off? Anger. Simple, honest anger - an emotion that I trust to guide me without deception. Weird, huh?
So, here we are five years later, and I’m still pretty fucked up, but I am in motion. I took over managing the Comic Book Shop in January, and that’s been an oddly life affirming change most days. Not perfect, by any stretch, but good. I am finding stretches of happiness that keep me moving. It’s like I tell my kids: joy is what happens in between long stretches of life. You earn moments of joy by slogging through the day to day.
Yeah … I’m downer dad.
Money is a constant terror - you know, like nearly everyone else - so nothing new or different there. Life is work, literally. I get my 40+ at the comic book shop, and I hustle for side-work to try and make ends meet. Something great fell in my lap a couple of weeks ago, though, that makes me happy.
I got a nice part time, quarterly gig. I don’t want to drop the details yet, because, in my mind, I’m on at least personal probation while we work through the first project, but I’m excited by the opportunity. Gimme a month, and I’ll dish on what’s happening and who I’m working for.
30 Years Ago Me was a pretty nice guy. He had faith in humanity, optimism for the future, and he gave a shit. NOW ME, well, I still give a shit, I just don’t know that it matters anymore. Opportunities still pop up and I am grateful and thankful for every one of them, I just have a hard time believing that the universe is going to let good things happen.
I don’t much care for Now Me, to be honest. I miss 30 Years Ago me quite a bit, if sometimes only because he could climb stairs without his knees screaming in protest.
Shit. I had a train of thought for this whole thing, but it’s been violently derailed several times this morning, and now I can’t get the narrative thread back. Isn’t that just life, though? Not the best closing, but far from the worst.