I turned 60 last week.
Fuck. I'm still 18, inside my head.
I'm on a business/training trip this week, and I discovered a (relatively) cheap source of alcoholic courage.
I have a good job, for a good employer, and an excellent shot at retiring from this one, finally.
I am loved by a special woman who thinks the world of little old imperfect me. Ok, imperfect is a stretch. Let's go with way, way less then perfect. Barely achieving his potential, perhaps.
There's an old joke about "What do you want to be when you grow up?", being discussed by 40-somethings. I've lived that joke for 20 years.
My training and degrees are in Computer Science, but my interests range from music to literature to technology to craftwork to art to... everything.
I'm tired. I've seen too much. Been hurt too much.
I want peace. Stability. Lack of Drama.
That's not life. That's a dream. Stability is Death.
But I can see a life with no drama. With stability. With someone who loves me.
Is that real? I no longer think of myself as a good judge of reality. My whole world changed.
I kind of liked the head-in-the-sand "reality" where I assumed my life was perfect, or normal, or something.
This new world is nice. More than nice. But I'm not really prepared to deal with it.