Forty-Eight Years Old

At least I got a book out before 50, amirite?

This past Friday, I turned 48 years old. With the rough draft of the next Far Flung book slowly in progress, I felt pretty good going into the day. I was wondering who would be first on my Facebook timeline (it was a coworker from a couple jobs back - like me, he’s still in Korea against all odds).

I’ll admit to spiraling a bit. It looked like my wife and my kids had totally forgot! By 5 pm, I was home and through with all my classes, and I had to go out for a walk to clear my head. I could barely enjoy the summer breeze and the nice river not far from my apartment - my emotions were going down, down, oh god oh god why did I feel like …

And then there was a message from my wife - she had remembered! My kids remembered too - my younger son had figured out exactly what take-out order would hit the spot, and my older son surprised me with a large can of beer. Oh, don’t worry - his mom bought it - he just figured out where to keep it hidden in the fridge until the time was right.

I write this as the promised, belated dinner approaches, and I think of gratefulness. A theme that comes through in my writing quite a bit, I think. Perhaps if you’ve read Far Flung, you wonder how the crew of that ship can be so damn wholesome and nice to each other all the time.

The simple answer is that that wholesomeness is something I seek and wish for, and appreciate as often as I can. The sequel may explore darker places, and add complexity and tougher choices. But there will always be some aspect of optimism and human kindness. That’s what keeps me going - I can write about the lights that guide me through darkness, even if they’re as simple as a spicy chicken burger and a large pilsner.