I don't wish to become sour. I'm bitter enough already.
Things don't look too pleasant from this side of the 40 year mark. I'm staring at an ugly midlife crisis dead in the eye, and I'm quite sure I'll be the first to blink.
I had high hopes for myself many years ago, when 40 was far enough away so as to not merit much concern. Suddenly it's but a couple of speedy years away. Time not only flies when you're having fun, it soars when it's in scarce availability.
Where did it all go? The dreams we cradled, the expectations so carefully carved out in our youth...Summarily brushed aside by the passing of time and the loss of enthusiasm brought on by our daily survival. The urgent takes precedence over the important. Our needs supersede our wants and before we know it, we're waist deep in conformity. Happy to simply get by.
Looking around at what I have accomplished thus far (unfortunately, even in self-analysis, I tend to opt for the social practice of judging people's success by the degree of their contributions to the world around them, their social status and their material assets), I find my early objectives far from met. However, I don't feel the urge to jump up and do something about it. No, I'm oddly content to view them as inevitable shortcomings that are the result of lofty aspirations dreamt up before I really knew what hand life dealt me. In other words, I choose to explain away my satisfaction with my own mediocrity, rather that pulling my head out of my ass and acknowledging reality with tangible actions.