And I thought that turning 30 was daunting…

31 arrives and I almost feel sick in the pit of my stomach. Reverberating around in my head are the words of Henry David Thoreau:

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

I don’t want to be over dramatic. Life is good. Life is very good.

But quiet desperation…

That sounds familiar.

What is the song that has been placed within me? Am I singing it? Is it clear? Is it being heard?

If I were to drop dead tomorrow would the song resound?

The relentless procession of the years terrifies me. My inability to change, really change, terrifies me. My love for retoric but fear of consequences terrifies me.

It’s time to be terrified.

May 31 be the best year yet.

One thought on “31

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