A while back I posted that my favorite cafe in town is closing. It is still slated to close and turn into another extension of our local food co-op, but for now it's still open and functioning as ever. I'm back here again for the first time in a while, and things are going well. Am probably on a roll to write another page or so before I have an eye doc appointment later this morning.
Near me sits on older man with a large book on his table. He's intently reading, and yet seems relaxed and secure in his old age. Here I sit at age 35, writing as quickly as I can to get this chapter finished, thinking of how much the completion of the degree will change my daily life without this large orangutan on my back. This gentleman doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Just having breakfast while reading a book. I mean, look, he's probably a world-famous endowed professor who has to run over to a seminar he's teaching, and he just read the entire 400 page book on his table in one sitting. But STILL: he looked serene. There are times when I can't wait to be old and settled in my life. I don't want to rush along the life process or anything (can you tell I'm writing about identity and self-authorship right now?), but there is something appealing to me about being in the later years of life and have "things" all settled. Ya know?
Don't get me wrong: I enjoying being "young" and I attempt to live in the present day. I guess I'm just acknowledging I have something to look forward to later in life.
Back to writing, feverishly.