(no subject)

 A couple of days ago, I was found on Facebook by someone I knew back when I was a kid. We were friends in grade school until the random formation of cliques formed in high school. And here we are now, middle aged men with diametrically opposed lives. He's a teacher now, married with grown children. And I'm not.

It's hard not to sit and take stock when you cross paths with someone who knew you when you were young, before you were fully formed. Hard not to wonder about accomplishments and lack thereof, and of roads not taken. 

It's odd. In some ways, I've led such an unexceptional life. Never travelled much, no great career, no great love. Will probably be toiling away long into my supposed retirement years. There won't be any notations in the history books with my name on them. 

And yet, I've had some amazing things happen to me. The cancer, though awful, was epic and sweeping and changed me in so many ways, some good, some bad. I was privileged to appear in the Canadian Premiere of Noises Off, my one and only professional acting job. I had a fun career at Indigo while it lasted and met authors and amazing people in the stores I worked in. It even gave me the chance to publish my book. Which, in turn, allowed me to tell my story and affect some people's lives. It even allowed me to fly to New York and be photographed by  a photographer that I later found out had photographed many celebrities.  And I've been lucky enough to be the subject of other amazing photographers. I've sold a couple of short stories that are out there to be read.

But I wonder sometimes what the relevant yardsticks are? Or if there even are any. Any that we don't make for ourselves. And mine are the ordinary ones, the marriage and picket fence ones. In short, all the ones that I don't have. Is that what we all do? Measure ourselves on the only yardstick that we know will leave us short?

I know that part of what I feel is mid winter blahs, that I am suffering from excess of cold and lack of light. But some of what I feel is the habits that are so ingrained as to seem hardwired. I miss being with someone. I do reasonably well on my own, but I miss having company on these Saturday nights when I am curled up with movies. I miss someone beside me in my nice clean Saturday night sheets.

Part of this too, is a bruised ego from some rejections: some active, some just those fade to black disappearances. And I'm in one of those slumps where no one is interested. No one in this country at least.

Nothing to do but keep on, try to live the best life one can, wherever it leads. There is nothing but this, this life, these days filled with these moments.

And in the end, the things I have done or experienced are mine and they add up to me. I guess few of us really ever understand or appreciate the impact we make on the world, the impression we leave. Or the hole we'll leave behind when we're gone.

(no subject)

 A couple of days ago, I was found on Facebook by someone I knew back when I was a kid. We were friends in grade school until the random formation of cliques formed in high school. And here we are now, middle aged men with diametrically opposed lives. He's a teacher now, married with grown children. And I'm not.

It's hard not to sit and take stock when you cross paths with someone who knew you when you were young, before you were fully formed. Hard not to wonder about accomplishments and lack thereof, and of roads not taken. 

It's odd. In some ways, I've led such an unexceptional life. Never travelled much, no great career, no great love. Will probably be toiling away long into my supposed retirement years. There won't be any notations in the history books with my name on them. 

And yet, I've had some amazing things happen to me. The cancer, though awful, was epic and sweeping and changed me in so many ways, some good, some bad. I was privileged to appear in the Canadian Premiere of Noises Off, my one and only professional acting job. I had a fun career at Indigo while it lasted and met authors and amazing people in the stores I worked in. It even gave me the chance to publish my book. Which, in turn, allowed me to tell my story and affect some people's lives. It even allowed me to fly to New York and be photographed by  a photographer that I later found out had photographed many celebrities.  And I've been lucky enough to be the subject of other amazing photographers. I've sold a couple of short stories that are out there to be read.

But I wonder sometimes what the relevant yardsticks are? Or if there even are any. Any that we don't make for ourselves. And mine are the ordinary ones, the marriage and picket fence ones. In short, all the ones that I don't have. Is that what we all do? Measure ourselves on the only yardstick that we know will leave us short?

I know that part of what I feel is mid winter blahs, that I am suffering from excess of cold and lack of light. But some of what I feel is the habits that are so ingrained as to seem hardwired. I miss being with someone. I do reasonably well on my own, but I miss having company on these Saturday nights when I am curled up with movies. I miss someone beside me in my nice clean Saturday night sheets.

Part of this too, is a bruised ego from some rejections: some active, some just those fade to black disappearances. And I'm in one of those slumps where no one is interested. No one in this country at least.

Nothing to do but keep on, try to live the best life one can, wherever it leads. There is nothing but this, this life, these days filled with these moments.

And in the end, the things I have done or experienced are mine and they add up to me. I guess few of us really ever understand or appreciate the impact we make on the world, the impression we leave. Or the hole we'll leave behind when we're gone.