tears in 30...

well, well, well.  someone just did a little math.

it goes like this: my birthday is in december.  it's almost july.  what does that mean?  i'll be 30 in 5 months.

that's it.

what does thirty mean?  not all that much.  hair thinning?  check.  women who want to get serious?  probably, at some point.  expectations higher and all of that?  fine.  listening to less and less cool bands?  hopefully not.

what it really means is relative to what 29 meant.  and that was tears.

not actual tears, maybe.  i can't remember completely.  but what i can remember in detail is the feeling of trying to hold it all in, to keep a straight (even smiling) face, as i mumbled my way through my birthday dinner with my parents.

i hope someday i can tell them that, but i think they could probably see it in my eyes.  they were kind enough to allow me to eat my rice pudding in peace.

a definite low point.  and it became obvious that i wanted to do anything in my power to make sure my next birthday was not spent the same way.

and here i am.  five months to go.

so let's go a little further, shall we? what is it that you had hoped to accomplish?  just for the sake of record-keeping.

i would have hoped to a) have moved out, b) proven myself at an internship with my friend's company, paid or otherwise, c) make a list of potential "careers" or "skillsets" i would like to cultivate, figure out the pros and cons (for me) of each, then dedicate myself to accomplishing them, d) gone out socially every night, e) volunteered in SB, and f) have worked my way up towards comfort on the guitar.  Read books, get ripped, etc, etc.

So basically I want whatever the self-help book shelf is promising.  And since it's promising it, maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself for not getting it.  But fuck.

The last couple of weeks I've read a little of this essay before I fall asleep: "On the Energies of Men" by William James.  It's basically about the enormous physical, psychological, and spiritual reserves we have that to untapped by everyday situations.  It puts in perspective, I think, "adrenalin junkies" and similar people.  They are just trying to tap into it.

So how do *I* tap into it?  And avoid crying into my glass on my 30th birthday?  Fuckity fuck fuck.

A recent quotation from a big wave surfer: something to effect of, "commit first, and figure it out later".  Is there any better description of tapping into the reserves of the energies of men?

-29