While having dinner on Wednesday night with a friend of mine, we got into a discussion about how we "made it". We have somehow crossed an imaginary demarcation line when it comes to the length of our age. I have blogged about this before, in a seemingly deja vuish conversation I had with someone else about three yeras ago. I must admit, I feel more like I've "made it" than I did three years ago. I am in a pretty good place right now. I have a job I find challenging and stimulating. I drive an hour each way (against the traffic) and find that hour a buffer between work and home. Ramping up on the way and decompressing on the way home. My health is good and I feel better than I have for a long time. The weight loss is slow and painful but I knew it would be. It seems as I get older, it becomes more of a burden to take it off. I can still run as fast as I can for as long as I can and that beats a majority of people my age. My kids, seemingingly, are in a good place. They all seem to be if not happy, then at least content. I have many things to be thankful for but, in the back of my mind, I find it hard to let go of the fact that it will all go incredibly wrong very soon. I keep looking over my shoulder for the grim reaper. I keep walking careful footsteps at work to make sure I am giving them the best I have. But, it's still not enough to get rid of this burnt patch in my head. Why? Could it be radio paranoia? That can be described as the feeling that no matter what you do, or how well you do your job, you're just a number and can be jettisoned at any time. It's happened so many times to me in the recent past. My boss likes and respects me, asks for my opinion and (gasp)actually uses it. Or, could it be something deeper? I am the adult child of an alcoholic. We're not supposed to be happy and we will sabatage any attempt to try. It's a struggle that has cost me many important people in my life. Just as things go well, we think of little nuclear devises to throw under our own wheels. We can't identify happiness and when we do, we run. We've never been truly happy so how do we know how to act? Countless therapy sessions have given me the opportunity to recognize and hopefully prepare. No matter how vigilant, now matter how ready, the feeling of inadequency will never cease to be a part of my psyche. Wish me luck. This time, it will be different. I seem to be approaching the autumn of my life with great strength, sound mind and finally grasping the concept of being content. What a great word. Contentment. I'm closer than I have been in a while. Wish me luck. Again.
