I haven’t published anything in a dogs age, but the pencil still scratches across the page most days. Ninety percent of the scratchings are of the soul dredging kind. 

This time of year feels engineered for taking stock and looking ahead. You stand at the top of the hill that you just hiked. You think about how tough or easy the hike felt and you pull out your map to plot your descent into the new year. Maybe you think about carrying a couple less items or wearing different socks or packing more water and snacks next time. SNACKS.

In my 20s, I thought the midlife crisis happened in your 50s. You bought a Jeep Wrangler and put big tires and a lift kit on it and started wearing cooler jackets and boots. You grow your hair out a bit longer so that you can schwipe it across the thinner coverage areas.

I find myself in the throes of it now, at 39. It makes sense, given that the US Life Expectancy (via quick google) is 77.28 years. If I’m lucky enough to get another 39, I’ve just reloaded with a couple of cold beers and a dog at the turn and teed off on number 10. I snap hooked it into the right trees, but I have a knack for finding it, chopping it back into play, and carrying on.

This year, I’ve found myself considering death more closely than usual. A friend's powerhouse of a Dad dies unexpectedly with some big ambitions left on his list. Another dear friend (my age) wakes up disoriented on his patio 15 months ago staring up at the sky; the culprit, a mass near his brain stem that had gone undetected. Fuck.

I’ve found myself wandering into weirder territory at the end of this year. The typical end of year stuff for me is usually…how I can be less of a fat fuck or how can I finally get my finances in order?

This year I’ve found myself listening to interviews with Joe Dispenza. A guy who makes me pat my ass pocket to make sure that my wallet is still there. When I re-read Atomic Habits for the fourth time, the section on identity is the one that has me captivated. Not the “leave your running sneakers by the door and sleep in your workout clothes” stuff but the parts that ask if you believe yourself to be “the type of guy who goes to the gym five times a week” or “the type of guy who runs a successful business”.

I don’t know what to do with Carrot Cake right now. Work has picked up. Business is better. Writing 1500 word pieces every week was much easier when I was un and underemployed.

My biggest struggle right now is trying to figure out how to neatly cram all of the things that I want to and must do into each 24 hour bin. Turns out that I can’t but I struggle with what to cut.

Happy New Year. I appreciate you reading my stuff. What are your hopes and dreams for the coming year?