Arthritis is showing up in my right hand these days.

I wake up to painful flexing and stiffness.

It gives me pause to wonder about the direction of things.

Even though I am aware of the finiteness of the world as never before, I (and we) keep living like there’s still plenty of time. In fact, like there’s no end to it.

But conversations with friends keep popping up that have nuggets like this in them: ”I talked to my financial advisor who pointed out that I probably only have another 10-15 years of work like this in front of me. My career coach asked me how do I want to do it?”

Aside from the immense privilege implied by all of it, it makes me consider how little I’ve really planned.

How unintentional I’ve been.

I followed my heart and passions in any direction they took me.

I realize now that this blindness has been aided and abetted by the ignoring of time.

I’m a father of two boys. Husband to a woman I’m worried is deeply unhappy about the choice to marry me and what the decisions that came after have meant for her career.

We sleep without touching and I miss the potential of that love.

I’ve played with desiring others, flirted with the sober women at the meetings, led myself to think I had more attraction that I really do.

But I look in the mirror and the the 35 year-old is nowhere to be seen.

I don’t write much any more and I miss the thought of maybe being great — but realize that maybe greatness was never within anyway.

Truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing.

I never did.