Can't Make a Wrong Turn if You Never Go Anywhere

Now that I'm officially middle aged, it's hard for me to not look back upon my life and wonder how the hell did I get here. I mean, I pretty much know how I got to where I'm at (mostly indecision and "playing it safe"), but there's a lot of looking back and comparing where I actually am to where I thought I would be. 

 

At 5 years old, I didn't know 45 was an actual age anyone got to. (Of course, I may be misremembering this as I was only 5, but it lines up in my head now).  I knew you could either be a baby, a kid, a big kid, an adult (like my parents) or an old person (like my grandparents). But the idea that I would one day be 45 years old myself would've seemed impossible to me then. That said, if I had to imagine myself doing something at 45 back then, I probably would've said pharmacist because that's what my dad did (and I had no idea that that even was). Or a ninja. But outside of that, I don't think I could've thought anything else about it.

At 15... At the beginning of 15, I imagined I would someday be a professional athlete - most likely in the NFL. Never mind that I didn't play any organized sports in high school nor did I bother getting my grades up enough so I could be eligible to play sports, I was sure it would somehow just magically happen. By the the end of 15, my dream of being rich and famous had mostly transitioned from being an athlete to being a rock star (or possibly writer). And much like my athletic dreams, I put no real work into achieving those dreams; instead I just expected them to happen. I was also sure at this point that by 45 I would not only be rich and famous, I would have a super model wife and a couple really awesome kids. 

At 25... To start the year off, I moved to England courtesy of the US Air Force. And I was sure it was fate so that I could meet some beautiful British woman I was destined to marry and have a family with. And of course, once I married her she would become my muse and I would begin my real career as a writer. I also decided at this point I should start going to school to be a teacher as a backup plan, even though I was sure the writing thing was also my destiny. By the end of 25, I had developed an infatuation for an American girl that was also stationed there. And when I say "infatuation," I mean I went full neckbeard. (Definitely not some of my proudest moments). And I was sure by the end of 25 that at 45 I would be married to said girl and we'd have a family that was always traveling thanks to the success of my writing.

At 35... I'd somewhat recently taken a full time job with the Air Force Reserves that I told myself was only going to be for a short time while I got my ass back into school to finish off that degree so I could be a teacher. I was also in a relationship that I wasn't entirely sure about and I handled that uncertainty by continually trying to advance it to the next level. So I bought a house that we could live in together. I figured by 45 we would've worked all the issues out and be married, though I was no longer really thinking I'd have kids. 

 

I don't know what the point to writing all this is. Guess I'm feeling a bit nostalgic (some might even say pensive) and figured I'd drag others along for the ride. I could probably write a bunch more about any of those given years (except maybe age 5), but I think these blurbs make for good snapshots. Sometimes I just think it's funny where life leads us (especially for those of us that refuse to take a lead). And with that in mind, I'm also going to imagine where I am 10 years from now.

At 55... Assuming I stay sober, based on historical trends, I'll be in the same job (or something adjacent). I won't necessarily enjoy it, but I know it could be worse and I've come to terms with it that way. Not to say I'm giving up on the teaching thing - I'm pretty sure I'll at least have finished my degree by 55. I just have my doubts I'll leave something financially comfortable for something that requires stricter personal budgeting. I certainly don't expect myself to somehow get magically rich and famous for work I won't do. I don't know if I'll still be in Alaska, but it's hard to imagine myself anywhere else. And of course, if I decide to start drinking again, I'll probably be dead before I make it to 55.