A new decade
Cross posted from Facebook:
So, we had to put Rabbit cat down yesterday. She'd been losing weight for a while, but I kept thinking it was due to x, y, or z, and surely she would get back on track as soon as I fixed z, y, and x. Mind you, the cause might not have been treatable even if we'd caught it earlier, but I'll never know, now. Hindsight has left me with a lot of soul-searching to do.
A sleepless night was filled with second-guessing, remorse, and heartache. But also some harsh self-realizations.
I've always believed, on some level or other, that we are all put on this earth to make a difference. What that means, I'm unsure, because there is so much suffering and injustice in the world that much of humanity must be getting it wrong. As a species, I believe we are getting it wrong. And that doesn't make much sense from a cosmic perspective. Why set up a system that is bound to fail? I'd go off on a tangent here about free will, but I don't really believe in a Christian God, and I digress. Suffice to say that I think we should be doing better, myself included.
In an over-simplistic way, I can divide my life experiences into decades. Childhood, teens, college. My thirties were perhaps my best decade; full of self discovery, and personal and spiritual achievement.
My forties were lost to health and dedicated to career. When my health started to go to pot, I put my time and energy into my job.
My career. I thought my career was my path to make a difference. What could be a more worthy goal than trying to train emergency responders how to do their jobs more safely and efficiently? On the worst day of your life, they are the ones who will respond to your need. And if they can't do their jobs well, it may be you who ends up suffering. Or them.
So. It seems a noble pursuit. It is a noble pursuit. But it also takes most of my energy. Most of my spoons, if you are familiar with that analogy, go to work, with a few left over to spend on my family, my parents, and my yard.
I haven't written any fiction of note in years. I haven't done any calligraphy and illumination. I've stopped playing SCA, which was an area in which I once achieved great success and personal satisfaction.
And I just let a cat die of liver failure because I was too tired and stressed out to notice her ill health or do anything about it.
That is not the kind of difference I want to make in this world. It is unacceptable.
I could use Lupus as an excuse, but it would be just that: an excuse. I made the decisions that got me here. I choose how to spend my energy, and while I may not have as much of it as I like, I still determine how and where I spend it.
So. I have to decide what I want my fifties to be. I know I don't want there to be another Rabbit.
It was about this age that my dad started painting. And I confess that I've been having the urge to write again. (As you can see from the length of this message.) Art and writing are things I can do from home, and require less energy. But my greatest urge is perhaps photography, and I'm not sure I can afford that, the type of cameras and lenses I'd need to do what I really want. But it may be something to prioritize.
I still don't have the answers, but I do know that I can't go on like I have been. The start of my fifties has to be about change.
So, we had to put Rabbit cat down yesterday. She'd been losing weight for a while, but I kept thinking it was due to x, y, or z, and surely she would get back on track as soon as I fixed z, y, and x. Mind you, the cause might not have been treatable even if we'd caught it earlier, but I'll never know, now. Hindsight has left me with a lot of soul-searching to do.
A sleepless night was filled with second-guessing, remorse, and heartache. But also some harsh self-realizations.
I've always believed, on some level or other, that we are all put on this earth to make a difference. What that means, I'm unsure, because there is so much suffering and injustice in the world that much of humanity must be getting it wrong. As a species, I believe we are getting it wrong. And that doesn't make much sense from a cosmic perspective. Why set up a system that is bound to fail? I'd go off on a tangent here about free will, but I don't really believe in a Christian God, and I digress. Suffice to say that I think we should be doing better, myself included.
In an over-simplistic way, I can divide my life experiences into decades. Childhood, teens, college. My thirties were perhaps my best decade; full of self discovery, and personal and spiritual achievement.
My forties were lost to health and dedicated to career. When my health started to go to pot, I put my time and energy into my job.
My career. I thought my career was my path to make a difference. What could be a more worthy goal than trying to train emergency responders how to do their jobs more safely and efficiently? On the worst day of your life, they are the ones who will respond to your need. And if they can't do their jobs well, it may be you who ends up suffering. Or them.
So. It seems a noble pursuit. It is a noble pursuit. But it also takes most of my energy. Most of my spoons, if you are familiar with that analogy, go to work, with a few left over to spend on my family, my parents, and my yard.
I haven't written any fiction of note in years. I haven't done any calligraphy and illumination. I've stopped playing SCA, which was an area in which I once achieved great success and personal satisfaction.
And I just let a cat die of liver failure because I was too tired and stressed out to notice her ill health or do anything about it.
That is not the kind of difference I want to make in this world. It is unacceptable.
I could use Lupus as an excuse, but it would be just that: an excuse. I made the decisions that got me here. I choose how to spend my energy, and while I may not have as much of it as I like, I still determine how and where I spend it.
So. I have to decide what I want my fifties to be. I know I don't want there to be another Rabbit.
It was about this age that my dad started painting. And I confess that I've been having the urge to write again. (As you can see from the length of this message.) Art and writing are things I can do from home, and require less energy. But my greatest urge is perhaps photography, and I'm not sure I can afford that, the type of cameras and lenses I'd need to do what I really want. But it may be something to prioritize.
I still don't have the answers, but I do know that I can't go on like I have been. The start of my fifties has to be about change.