“Beware of old men in a hurry.” I heard this once by a newspaper opinion writer whose name I can’t remember. I’m thinking of it as I grow older and wonder what to do in the remaining time before shuffling “off this mortal coil.” I turn 50 next month; it’s a milestone. Molly Shannon had an SNL skit where she played someone proud of reaching it. “I’M SALLY O’MALLEY, AND I’M 50! BOOK ‘EM DANNO; I’M FIVE-0, 50!”
What am I hurrying to do? Write more. I have two essays in the works: an analysis of realist and naturalist drama that I might pitch to some middle-brow publications and a travel/environmental piece cum memoir that might find a place in on-line publication. I also have initial thoughts about a novel but have had trouble getting started with fiction in the past. My idea is to write a kind of hybrid action thriller and psychological drama. Yes, there are other things I want to do: travel, time with family and friends, etc. But then you have to be careful with “etc.” It’s like “miscellaneous”: it can be the repository of a multitude of sins. I have to watch out, not getting any younger. Haha.
So buyer beware: I am in a hurry but like to think have also earned a semblance of calm and peace. “Baby, slow down./The end is not as fun [or far?] as the start,” according to U2. For a more traditional poet’s take on old age: