Things are beginning to wind down at work–rather, they’re starting to reach routine. The troubles and the broken accounts still exist but their numbers are going down. Repairing and fixing them is now simpler than it was on day one–where no one really knew what to do; including myself. It was certainly a humbling feeling.
For the longest time–at least during this transition–I’ve chastised myself for not taking the initiative more, or for not being so quick on my feet. Yes, I was selected for the special project that eased and helped in this mass acquisition at work, but it felt it wasn’t enough. Plus there were two other guys on my team, a team I’ve referred to as the three-headed beast/trifecta. It’s just three of us handling the majority of the escalations/acquisition issues. I’m not complaining, not really. It’s certainly flattering, but not without its heavy burden.
Anyway, as I saw my colleagues pick up things faster than me, I’m reminded that A) I’m getting too old for this shit, B) I’m not fully invested in this, and C) When the fuck did “A” happen and why am I letting it happen?
A realization came to me a few days ago. While my colleagues are thoroughly focused and invested in this acquisition–because they wish to advance their careers at the company–I’m a bit more sidetracked. No. It’s not complacency, as I once thought it was. You see, for me the day-job has always been just a day-job. Unfortunately, the job got pretty high level and required a lot more than just the minimum to get things done. Plus, it’s hard for me to step away from a challenge.
I miss writing.
The day-job is a means to an end, where I can write full time! I felt myself slip away from writing as the day-job took hold. I could no longer balance the two lives as easily as before. Granted, my old job in SoCal had become so mundane I finished writing my current Project Horizon series.
I have vacation coming up. I plan to take advantage of that down time to finish up the third novel in the Project Horizon series. (And finally start another project)
My birthday is also coming up and with it, it solidifies my crisis; I’m officially in my thirties at 31. (I didn’t count 30 as being in my thirties) #denial
And with the next step into my thirties comes the whole “What have I done with my life?”
The question grows more and more intimidating with each passing year. One more gray hair perhaps. One more wrinkle that may or may not have been there. One more ache I swore wasn’t there yesterday. One bad sleep position I can no longer afford…
In the end, the night is young. I still have plenty of time, sure. But I can’t help but compare and remember an old saying that man’s life is like a rose; short and beautiful. Just when it reaches its prime, it withers. Let this angst serve as the fire of passion, for I have so much more than they’ve got planned.