i used to be good at lots of stuff. years ago, i was a young soul, full of ambition and talent and hope… and i made it a point to make the most of everything i was ever given. i don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden i can’t recognize any of these traits in me anymore. i joke around about being a grandpa, but i seriously feel a lifetime removed from any of the building blocks of my youth. i am a completely different animal. for all the promise of youth and intelligence and capability, how can i not be disappointed by what i’ve amounted to? is this it? i’m really just gonna tattoo people every day, like that’s the best thing i have to offer the world?
therein lies the problem. now as an old man(ha!), i can tell how unfortunately, yet acceptably low i set my goals for life: find a fun job that you’re good at. make lasting friendships with people you love. share the wealth.
even now i can still see why that felt like that was all i needed…. in a way, it felt selfish for anyone to want more, and who am i to say i deserve better than any other sad sack? so many people would be happy with that just that. but the years go by, the people come and go, goals get reached, and before you know it there’s nowhere else to go. the hallway ends, no doors, no windows, just lined with the shelves of atrophy. why isn’t it enough for me to reach my own meager goals? why do i need more? what does it take to be content? it’s becoming clear that i probably will never know.
but, at least my country wasn’t completely decimated by an earthquake last week.
i guess i can try to enjoy the little things.
like tubing. on shitty snow. in the rain.