I wrote recently that for this time off I regret not traveling exotically to far off lands. I squandered the rare opportunity to roam the Sahara or climb the Steppes for months. Likewise, closer to home I thought now would be the time to PAAAAARTAY. 4am every night. Sunrises. Strippers and blow. Woo. and some Hoo.
I’ve been going out less, not more. I’ve turned down offers of bar crawls with Major due to sickness or ennui. I regret missing the fun, but I also know myself. I hate to cite numbers, actually a number, my age, 46. I no longer crave so much random drinking. It’s not just that I’m old, but rather I have home hobbies, pursuits, and activities that I also value. There are spheres to make, object-oriented programming to learn. I no longer live in a drafty cave; I abide in a cozy abode that I like calling home.
Nonetheless, as I age, I recognize my native wish to stay home, and so when asked to leave the turtle shell, I ought to say yes more than no. I know what staying home feels like. Outside is adventure and serendipity.