32

Father Time recently burdened me with another year. 32. Fuck. I’m finally feeling old. My free-ranging youth when anything was possible is over. Economist, forester and nuclear engineer (yes, I was thisclose to joining the Navy and becoming a nuclear engineer) have all fallen by the wayside. I moved from one hopeful profession to the next. I want to be a writer! But I fail to write (seems ironic in a blog). I want to be a photographer! But I fail to practice and learn the techniques. I want to be great at something! But I fail to put in the effort.

At this stage of my life, I don’t know who I am (other than lazy). After how many years of doing the same thing does it become apparent that’s just who I am? I’ve written many times how I feel like I can do great things, but my actions betray that feeling. Talk doesn’t get anyone anywhere; actions are what are left in the end. Dreaming of greatness never made anyone great. Hard work, skill and a little luck pull the greatness out of us.

My 31^st year came and went, but what did I accomplish? The biggest success was finding a new group of friends that pulled me away from drinking alone. I had people to go to concerts with, I had new couches to crash on; I had a new home base. But you can’t live on friends alone (plus they can get grouchy if you continually ask to stay at their house or don’t ask and just pass out there).

Greatness?

I look back on last year and see months littered with wasted opportunities. I had an article published in a magazine (work related) and took photographs I wouldn’t have seen in previous years, but the follow-up is lacking. There is no push to use the article as a springboard to more articles in a variety of publications. Photos on Flickr are static, never growing to reach new audiences or finding new outlets.

I keep dabbling around the edges, tiptoeing towards my dreams, never decisively heading in any direction. What will I be remembered for? Having promise, but never fulfilling it? A non-descript guy who blended into the background (other than on Swanky Saturday)?

I am blessed with fantastic and dear friends, but I want to find success personally. Will my 32^nd year be any different (If past results are indicative of the future, probably not)? I know I sound dour on my life, but all is not lost. Maybe this is the year I put my shit together and better myself. Maybe I use that new tripod I bought and grow as a photographer. Maybe I begin to post blogs once a week and better understand how to write. Maybe I quit my job and become a nuclear engineer.

When people are having a drink at my funeral (it’ll be an open bar), I hope they have more to say than that asshole spent so many nights on my couch, I should’ve charged him rent. Here’s to 32!