I recently turned sixty. Imagine that! Sixty times round the sun and still hanging on for dear life.
I don’t mind being sixty though. It’s a number that shows I am nearer the end than the beginning but I don’t dwell on that. There are some benefits of being this age that I love.
One is that the number of folks in the circle labelled “I care what these people think about me” is the smallest it’s ever been. Sure, it’s nice to be liked. But it’s nicer to be focussed on what makes you happy. And that don’t always align with “being liked”.
But, this can be dangerous. I am aware that my world is getting smaller year by year. Old friends have been replaced by getting lost in books. I’ve ditched a large amount of social media because a lot of it is a cesspit. Evidenced by the current call by a minority to imprison RNLI volunteers. I just don’t want to read about that shit.
For the first time in my life I am thinking more about my mental health. Hopefully, the fact that I am thinking about means I will act to keep it mainly positive, and I will learn how to deal with negative challenges in a more proactive way.
Starting this blog is a part of that realisation that I need to act. I have always written stuff down. Always for an audience of one only – me. Now though, my thoughts on life, love and the world will be logged here. Probably still for an audience of one. But that’s fine. You gotta get it out there mate.
Older. Not Over. 