About two thirds of my life is behind me now.
I’m a little bit pissed about that.
I’m pissed because I spent an awful lot of those years on stupid things. Not wine, women and song kinds of stupid things. Hell with a little restraint those kinds of stupid things would be preferable to the stupid things I did pursue.
I spent too many of those years worrying. There are few less productive, more destructive, more idiotic activities in this life than worry. It chewed me up, kept me up at night, even yanked me upright and screaming from my sleep. Too many years of worry.
I spent too many years, too damn many years trying to please people who didn’t want me to please them. They didn’t want me to succeed except on their terms. And their terms insured my frustration and my diminishment. Why did I care about their stuff? Why did I stay with some of them as long as I did? Because they convinced me that I was safer there. That it would be even harder somewhere else.
And that pisses me off too.
But the part that angers me most is how much time I spent afraid. The chances for joy that I chose to allow to expire because the small risk was magnified. The lens of fear magnifies the hardship and shrinks the reward.
Looking back I see that I didn’t just rob from myself but from the ones I love. I didn’t give them as much of my life, as much of my love as I might have.
That makes me both angry and sad.
So now I’m left with a third of my life. Shall I add regret and bitterness to the list of stupid things I’ve wasted my life on? Shall I lie on that final day thinking, “What have I done? What did I do with all those days?”
That would really piss me off.
It would be proof that I’m too damn stupid to learn. I don’t want to go there. Why would I want to give more years to worry, to fear and to bitter, small souled people?
There was some good stuff in my first two thirds. Some really damn good stuff and people. Let’s build from there. Let’s live for joy, let’s live for love, let’s live for life.
Let somebody else be pissed off.