I was lying down, tired as usual, and looking at the flat white ceiling in the middle of the night. I was thinking about millions of ideas. Of course, none of these ideas were unhelpful to my mission at hand which was to sleep, or at minimum, at least I could relax until my alarm goes off.
I am a creature of thought. I have ideas. I have dreams, or should I say that I aspire because the dreams I have are less the sort that come with sleep and more of the kind that keeps my heart alive — or at least they should.
Nevertheless, these are the things that keep me awake in the middle of the night. I think too much. I dissect the ideas that seem to tangle my thinking and up the voltage of my energy level. But this thing that we call insomnia is something that I have lived with for as long as I can remember.
But that’s okay.
No, really.
It is.
I am not old or sick or weak or near the end; however, I am far from the beginning and seasoned enough to know better. I am not a novice or a beginner. However, I can see where I make novice or rookie mistakes.
I have been around the block a few times. I have seen enough to know which way the wind blows, and I don’t need anyone to tell me when it’s raining.
No, I have reached an age and arrived at a time when my bones can sense the temperature changes and the dampness certainly has an impact on my joints.
I do not heal as well or as quickly as I used, which is another sign of age. I have some grays in my beard, and a few on my head. But I suppose this means I am seasoned, or at least I should be.
At the same time, I was assured by a young man at work that I look good for my age. Or in his words, or more accurately, what he said was, “You don’t look that old.” when he found out that I was 52.
I am not used to being older than my doctors, by the way. This is a new thing to me.
In any case, I suppose this was a compliment from the kid at work. In fact, I know it was because this is something that I thought about when I was in my early 20’s.
Back then, the idea of being in my 50’s seemed ancient and so far in the future. Yet, somehow, I am here and still alive in my early 50’s and shaking my head, wondering “Where has the time gone?”
It is early in the morning and I am facing the predicaments of life on life’s terms. I have bills to pay. I have a future to plan, which is important to me. I have responsibilities and things that need my attention. However, I made the decision that the harder I work, the harder I want to play.
I have hopes and dreams and a retirement plan. I have the golden twilight years to which I want to make sure that I do not waste another minute. I don’t want to age so drastically that I am too old to enjoy my retirement years.
I want the toys and the dream. I want to see the places where I’ve dreamt I’d like to be. I want to find myself, somewhere south, or to be in a small town, like a snowbird from up north.
I want to be where people smile and recognize the sunset, like an afternoon I spent at Imperial Beach in San Diego.
The sunsets were unlike anything I had ever seen in my life, and all the locals and the people gathered at the dead end, just before the beach, and everyone gathered to watch the sky and say hello to one another.
I was spoken to like a familiar stranger.
I liked that.
To hell with the doom and gloom and the details of depressive life or depressive thinking. I want to break the chains and destroy the leash that keeps me chained to a desk.
I want to set up my plan and, with all of my heart, I want to step away from the mad dash and the crazy commuters.
I want to get away from corporate politics and finally, I want to earn all that I can, while I still can, and I want to save as much as possible, because when the age turns right and when the moment comes to hit the magic button, I want to hand in my papers and smile as I walk out the door for the last time.
I have seen too many people work their life away.
That’s not going to be me.
I made a deal with myself that I will never grow old. And while I might not have the same definitions of fun, or though my ideas of fun are not the same as when I was younger, I want to make sure that from this point, I enjoy the rest of my life — no matter what!
This sleep thing . . .
I’m really good at falling asleep. I can fall asleep fast.
It’s sleeping through the night — that’s the trick!
Anyway, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
For now, I’ll have to go earn my daily bread. I’ll have to learn to forgive my trespassers and those who trespass against us — and I have to be sure not to lead myself into temptation and be delivered from, for this is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.
Amen.
Don’t get old, kid.
Don’t worry, Pop.
I know what I’m doing, said the young boy to his father.
The Written Addiction 