Middle Age Musings at 3 a.m.

In one hundred years, no one will remember I was here. Probably less, and I’m absolutely certain I’m okay with that. I have no children to hover or haunt, no one who will share memories or reminisce. I am absolutely 100% okay with that. Many of the people I loved and love will be gone too, and that makes me happy in a maudlin, relieved kind of mood. Life has been fucking hard man, but you know that already. You’ve had your share of hard knocks. Middle age is no longer leisurely days to look forward, but ones to begin reflecting back. Sometimes the blissful memories coming flooding in like a tsunami, and the senses are overwhelmed. The easy days when the world seemed kinder and gentler and strangers still smiled in your direction.

Some days feel too ugly and weighted down in regret. Loss and death become the time-bomb reality, and the love that has gone missing starts to bear down heavy on your chest. Me, I never liked holidays or forced traditions, silly pagan rituals we hold tight in order to take the next bold step. They are the faded reminders best left in the attic gathering dust.
I have many, many regrets. I should’ve been nicer; I could have done that. I should’ve been more patient, sensible, richer, successful. You know all the crazy preconceived notions we have swirling in our heads. I should have traveled more, fell in love often and been less afraid of what everyone else thought.

Sure, I lost friends, lovers, a father, and others along the way, but maybe we’re not supposed to dwell in the past full of anger, hurt and regret. To all the people I have loved and who’ve loved me back, I thank you. Take this day, and don’t look back. Do whatever the fuck you want; my wish for you is that you take a big risk. Tomorrow, you’ll fall right back into a routine, whatever drama and anxiety fill your head. Go ahead, and live.
The highway halfway mark has passed, and I’m trying not to look back or ahead. I’m going to cut myself some slack, try out radical acceptance.

Time doesn’t give a shit about my existence, it only cares that I lived well, honest, and not half dead. I will let go of shame and secrets and regret, blowing them into the wind with a great big sigh of relief and cleansing breath instead.

I do hope I get to experience more good living, and that I push myself to forgive before I forget. I hope I get to drive cross country, meeting strangers and leisurely making my way west, climbing majestic mountains, diving into the frigid Pacific waters with sunshine in my heart, and salty tears on my breath. Even if it’s all a dream and only a personal movie playing on repeat in my head.

Go ahead and celebrate your life, I dare you. I never needed a special day to be reminded of the great gift that is time, even the ones I wasted and wished away. In my most precious and free-spirited, happy heart, joy, and wonder stand still and I’m forever five. Innocent and free from worry, and life’s precarious uncertainty, and the long journey ahead.

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