So today I’m 50.
That’s not an issue, beyond the obvious dwindling of my capacities. More a case of what the hell have I done with 50 years?
Before you worry this will be too deep, as Ford Prefect might say, don’t panic, the following is just minor introspection and largely obvious realisations. It’s not something I’ve thought much about, until now, so it’s by no means deep thought.
Back to the point
In the last year I’ve been made redundant, had a couple of amazing travel experiences and had my feet held to the fire by my daughter’s cancer to remind me that (cliché alert) this isn’t a…(no just can’t bring myself to say it)…dress rehearsal. Damn. But it’s true.
I spent the last 25 years of my life in a beige or grey cubicle. No way to live but if you’re not born with money you have to earn it and I didn’t find a way out of the maze in time to escape to a life of financial ease as a footballer, a rapper (yeah that image made you wince didn’t it) or a D-star celeb who is just famous for being famous. Is it too late for the D-celeb thing as I know it is for the other careers (not even touching the talent gap there either)?
Could this be me…
…well no obviously not, my Dad didn’t own a hotel chain. Just throwing something in for Gen X or is it Y now? [And obviously just a cunning ruse to add a whole new demographic to the blog]
Back in time
At 17, or so, I remember being certain that desk bound life was not for me. So what the hell happened. I’m not sure I have a good answer for that. All I know is that it’s thirty years later and I’m not anywhere, or anything, like I thought I would be. I’m not sure I really remember what I thought I should be, train driver, fireman, desk bound office lackey with a skill for organisation and a penchant for chocolate from a machine in the corridor…oh yes, there it is.
Not that your typical 17 year old is imagining themselves at 50, they’re too busy laughing at their elders and knowing they have the world at their feet to think about that. Though I must admit I never thought I had the world at my feet, it was too drilled into me that nothing gets given to you in life.
Now here I am having a
mid (strike that as it implies I’m going to live to a 100. Highly improbable… especially with my lifestyle) …late-life crisis (assuming this is what all this thinking is about). If so where’s the motorbike, the two seater sports car, the young woman draped over me? FFS I can’t even have a late-life crisis properly!
The only thing that really comes from this rambling odyssey of a post is that I see no way out of the cubicle, for now, so I sure as hell best make use of the time out of that beige-ness. And if you see me being ‘beige‘, please remind me life has more colour that should be experienced far, wide and often.
(working on an exit strategy – from the beige, not from life)