Monday, 1 November 2010

being 36

1/11/2010



So I am going to be 36.
I think I might write down what I think my life will be like when I am 56, just so I can bring it out on that birthday and have a laugh.
Being 36 is not a landmark, or an important birthday, or anything in particular to crow about; but I have reached this middle age, and I am supposed to be all wise and know the meaning of life and what the hell I am supposed to be doing on this earth. And yet, every day brings more and more questions. You answer a few, and many more crop up.
I want to write something meaningful, and feel that I have contributed to this humanity. Isn't that why we do what we do? Isn't that why we get up in the morning and go to work? So that we contribute? We are quite capable of surviving in the wild without all the window dressing, and yet we don't, we go to work and try desperately to make a contribution that others will notice.
And yet, I am stumped by the challenges of being a parent, wonder what my kids will be in therapy for, and whether I do the right thing from day to day. Am I spending enough time with them? Am I spending enough time at work? Am I making a worthwhile contribution? Should I go on more holidays, play more games, let them watch TV? Should I get my heart rate to 170 when I go to the gym? Should I do more weights? Should I eat pasta last thing at night?
Should I call my sisters more often, tell them that I love them more often? Should I save more into my super?
At the end of the day, does it really matter? I guess I hope so, and it is the reason we get up every morning.
My father died at 56. I am not sure why that hurts so much today. How much more did he hope to accomplish? Did he face that final curtain and feel he had made it? At the end of the day, that is what we are all so afraid of, isn't it? To die, and turn into ashes and lie forgotten by the centuries. It is why we reproduce, why we learn, why we hope to pass on our knowledge, why we are kind to others and why we carve our names in stone. To fly.
It is too quiet in my house. There is too much empty sound, filled by crap like this.

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