Day to day life
Sorry I've been kind of quiet. Please don't mistake my lack of entries lately as any reason for concern.
I am loving my time here. It's just that periodically life is pretty boring...but considering that I'm 38 and have a career, that's not really shocking. I go to work, I exercise, I try to eat my 5 -8 fruit and veg a day, and since I don't know a lot of people I often spend time by myself. Sometimes I'm exploring or just out observing things in the world, sometimes I'm reading a book or watching tv. Now that the newness of England has worn off there's nothing particularly exciting in my day to day life, and it takes an occasion or a lot of time off to really do something extravagant or adventurous. Which is why sometimes I don't feel like blogging. I mean, who really cares that I had a long day at work sitting at my desk and writing about Dubai, and then went on a walk and came home to make chicken tacos?
Back in our 20's, my friend Tom and I decided that the thirties were your worst decade. In your 20's you can pretty much waste time and enjoy yourself with little consequence. You can go listen to bands every night of the week, you can get by on 5 hours of sleep a night, you can pick your vacation destination by flipping a coin. (New Orleans won, FYI.) Once you hit forty, you can start getting a little eccentric because you've built a life and an identity, plus by then you are entering the ruling class...and if you set the rules no one can tell you you're doing it wrong. After 60 you're supposed to get opinionated and kind of crotchety and be a bit of a character, which means hours of entertainment watching people react to the goofy things you say and do. With age comes privilege...you've done your time in the gristmill of life, and now you can start wasting time and enjoy yourself with little consequence. Sure, you could get in and out of furniture better when you were 20, but you make up for lack of mobility by being smarter and most folks have better finances by then, as well.
But people in their thirties, man. Dull as dishwater. Cardigan-wearing pasty-white-stay-insides. Never do anything fun. Always have to be responsible. Listen to boring oldies music and look like they need more sleep.
Now that we're older, Tom and I have certainly gotten a bit more sanguine about the joys of aging, but our theory about the thirties has proven dead on correct.
There is very little fun to be had in your thirties. You can see all the woulda/shouldas and glaring errors of your youth. You have to work ALL THE TIME. People have kids and mortgages, and making bad choices can have consequences from which you can't recover. The first few years are spent dealing with first wrinkles and the realization that people in movies are all younger than you, and then all of a sudden you look in the mirror and your belly hangs over your belt and you've developed a little slouch and things you thought were stationery are suddenly moving south. You recoil in horror, and you throw your back out. You can't go out on Friday because you know you'll be asleep by 10. On Saturday you go to a friend's for dinner and you try not to notice the little groans and sighs people make from moving after sitting too long.
Yup. I'd say the thirties pretty much suck.
But we're sliding into 40 now, which means the renaissance is nigh. Perhaps I'll just pretend I'm 40 already and get on with the fun.
I am loving my time here. It's just that periodically life is pretty boring...but considering that I'm 38 and have a career, that's not really shocking. I go to work, I exercise, I try to eat my 5 -8 fruit and veg a day, and since I don't know a lot of people I often spend time by myself. Sometimes I'm exploring or just out observing things in the world, sometimes I'm reading a book or watching tv. Now that the newness of England has worn off there's nothing particularly exciting in my day to day life, and it takes an occasion or a lot of time off to really do something extravagant or adventurous. Which is why sometimes I don't feel like blogging. I mean, who really cares that I had a long day at work sitting at my desk and writing about Dubai, and then went on a walk and came home to make chicken tacos?
Back in our 20's, my friend Tom and I decided that the thirties were your worst decade. In your 20's you can pretty much waste time and enjoy yourself with little consequence. You can go listen to bands every night of the week, you can get by on 5 hours of sleep a night, you can pick your vacation destination by flipping a coin. (New Orleans won, FYI.) Once you hit forty, you can start getting a little eccentric because you've built a life and an identity, plus by then you are entering the ruling class...and if you set the rules no one can tell you you're doing it wrong. After 60 you're supposed to get opinionated and kind of crotchety and be a bit of a character, which means hours of entertainment watching people react to the goofy things you say and do. With age comes privilege...you've done your time in the gristmill of life, and now you can start wasting time and enjoy yourself with little consequence. Sure, you could get in and out of furniture better when you were 20, but you make up for lack of mobility by being smarter and most folks have better finances by then, as well.
But people in their thirties, man. Dull as dishwater. Cardigan-wearing pasty-white-stay-insides. Never do anything fun. Always have to be responsible. Listen to boring oldies music and look like they need more sleep.
Now that we're older, Tom and I have certainly gotten a bit more sanguine about the joys of aging, but our theory about the thirties has proven dead on correct.
There is very little fun to be had in your thirties. You can see all the woulda/shouldas and glaring errors of your youth. You have to work ALL THE TIME. People have kids and mortgages, and making bad choices can have consequences from which you can't recover. The first few years are spent dealing with first wrinkles and the realization that people in movies are all younger than you, and then all of a sudden you look in the mirror and your belly hangs over your belt and you've developed a little slouch and things you thought were stationery are suddenly moving south. You recoil in horror, and you throw your back out. You can't go out on Friday because you know you'll be asleep by 10. On Saturday you go to a friend's for dinner and you try not to notice the little groans and sighs people make from moving after sitting too long.
Yup. I'd say the thirties pretty much suck.
But we're sliding into 40 now, which means the renaissance is nigh. Perhaps I'll just pretend I'm 40 already and get on with the fun.
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