40. It’s just around the bend. That’s a lot of years. And yet I still have no idea what I will become. I think I am supposed to feel something different, but I am still wired to push. Am I alone?
The intensity that rages through my mind is unbearable…even to myself…on most days. But it is all I know. I want precision and order and serialized goals to be realized in the way that I envision they can.
Am I alone?
But alas, the smarter ones that I know exist out there have their secrets. Their secrets on how to cope or manage or maybe just completely blow things off just to stay sane. I’m not that person. Everything needs its due attention. Everything must be addressed. Or maybe I am just dumb and should follow their lead of apathy.
So I go often into Annette Bening mode: “I will sell this house today!”. I allow myself to head down that cheesy pop-psychological path and coax my ethos that I can do it all. That I can stay young and mentally razor sharp. That I can learn massive amounts of new material. That I can look at my children when I walk in the door mentally wasted from the day and not be a complete dick and be present for them. That I can look at my Amy with my same tired eyes and try to shoot laser beams of confidence out of them to her to convey that I will do us right and not fail. That I can continue to surface laughter out of her from me as we are co-dependant laughers when we get rolling together. That I can compartmentalize all of that and be able to focus on the weekends to do my best on my bike.
I will sell this house today. Am I alone?