After obsessing about the tyranny of even the thought of dating, among other "stuff," a friend of mine not so gently reminded me: "Mike, you're almost 63 years old!" That really jolted me - I'm not a whiny teenager creeping into adolescence; I'm not a twenty-something wondering if I'll ever be successful in anything; I'm not thirty-ish trying to gain a foothold in the world of work; I'm not going through the forty's mid-life crisis. In several weeks I'll be sixty-three years old - two years from Medicare, three years from being eligible for full social security and twelve years from the average age of mortality for men.
What a series of sobering thoughts - it's time to grow up and really face my fears, my compulsions and my neuroses (of which I have many). I want a "capstone career" - find it. I want some semblance of a social life, including possibly dating - figure out who, what and when and do it. I want to travel - call the most reliable travel I've ever known, gather the information and buy the tickets. I want my house re-designed the way I would like - get the right people to do the work - landscaping, home repairs, counter tops, etc. and "get-er-done." I want to get my psychological house in order - find a support group that will help me map my growth and be more self-accountable. I want to re-establish meaning in my life - find ways to help others.
Pretty heady talk - "physician - heal thyself"!
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