I will admit to not being too attentive to what's going on around me. It could stem from many things. Possibly it comes from my living hypersensitive to my surroundings,for the decade I worked with criminals. Always looking behind, and sideways. Walking in the center of hallways while passing through intersects, was a good idea.
Maybe that's not it, at all. Maybe, I've finally reached an age where I really don't give a healthy crap what's going on around me, unless it directly effects me. I've had a couple of marriages, raised a few kids, and held responsible positions while employed for a few decades.
Maybe why I don't pay much attention to what's going on around me, is that it's finally time for me.
I'm not well off, or even all that comfortable by some standards. All I really have in my retirement is time.
I now have time to play at being a radio guy on Internet radio. Time to learn to muddle away at the guitar and make what halfway sounds like music. Time to write all the stories at which I've made so many false starts, and time to go out with friends to enjoy a margarita or a Dos Equis, without guilt.
Guilt? You ask why I'd feel guilty over doing such mundane, normal things like having a drink with friends? If you'd been inside my head and body for the 25 years leading up to my retirement, you'd know what I mean by guilt.
I couldn't sit still. I couldn't enjoy normal relaxation outlets such as golf, jogging, tennis, sitting around the deck and chewing the rag with friends.
Why? Because those things nagged at my sub-conscious as being a waste of time. None of those things, or the thousands of ways other people relax, felt productive. Chatting wasn't getting the roof on the shed patched, or the trim on the house painted. Golf stole hours away from my life I could never recover. I could have spent that afternoon or morning, mowing the lawn, 'eating' weeds, or trimming the trivet hedge.
Writing while sitting at the computer (or in previous decades, the typewriter, then the word processor) would have eaten up more precious hours. Why, I could be re-finishing an antique bed-side stand, or servicing one of my motorcycles.
Motorcycle? People wonder why I have three bikes. I own a 1973 Yamaha RD-350, a 1979 Honda CX 500, and my new bike, a 1985 Honda V-65 Sabre. It's easy to tell folks why I own the bikes. It's true, each is unique, and has an historic place in motorcycling, or my life. But, that's not the real answer. The truth is, none of them have very many miles on their odometers. Upgrading to a newer machine would be a total waste.
I own them. I love them. Except for the RD-350. I love the RD most. That's why it's a garage queen. It's covered and protected from age and elements. I maintain and ride them. Not much, though. Do you realize that while I'm out pleasuring myself riding around enjoying the scenery on my bike, there's work I could be getting done? As a result, even the intention of taking a nice long ride was nearly always squelched by my guilt. A short ride? Perhaps. That is if I could get it over with really quick, and get back to whatever task my askew sub-conscious had designated as the days priority.
Enough of that! That's all behind me now. I'm retired.
Now, I can ride one of my bikes longer. Now, I can sit here and write this blog. Now I can devote two days a week to producing a one hour Trop Rock show for Internet radio.
Now, I can go to 'house concerts' in Philadelphia, or a John Prine concert in Williamsport, and actually stay overnight. Until retirement, I would not have considered going to Philly to see a musician in someones home. I may have gone to see Prine in Williamsport, but I'd have driven home right after the show. I'd need to wake up in my own bed and get right to the tasks of the day. Three hours sooner than if I'd stayed overnight.
I still can't see wasting my time on golf.
But I can see doing things I consider to be fun. Right below this blog entry, is an example of something I place in that category. It only took a couple of hours to do it. I didn't have to waste time travelling far. That two hours of pleasure are digitally immortalized, bearing witness that I do know how to have fun.
Now, I can thumb my nose at the world as I laugh and say, "see? Don does know how to relax and have a good time."
