Ain't that so — it's more like a race against time.
If I could be bothered to do the obligatory Google search, I'm sure there's a well-trodden path exploring and illuminating why, as we age, time speeds up — that's if you even believe in the concept (some don't).
To be honest, those last few words sound a bit hollow, a bit bland or certainly they don't capture the heartfelt sense of loss I feel in knowing that I'm careering towards, if I'm not already there, the last third of my life.
So much to do, so little time to do it.
In my case, this isn't new.
Even in my early years, I still had the feeling that time was not on my side, which I'm sure explains my extreme work ethic and the need for success — don't guffaw.
The problem is, despite a degree of analysis about what I might want to do — more like an existential crisis or two (Who am I?) — I'm still not sure if I'm making the best use of my time. Who does? I know I can be too easily distracted, waste time doing the wrong things and I can procrastinate like the best of them.
To be honest, and I mean this, I wish I had found my calling or not thrashed around so much in the dark, and, at times, the bitter undergrowth of underachievement.
I could big it up but then again, as I think about the trail of breadcrumbs I've left by dint of my work, relationships and the odd bit of give-a-shit, there ain't much to show for it.( Collapse )