Wait, didn’t Sammy Hagar say I can’t drive now that I’m 55? Or something like that

This is a weirdly relaxed birthday for me.
I used to put a lot of work into setting goals for my natal years—I prefer that to New Year’s—but with the 101 in 1,001 goal-setting, I have more than enough of those. And more important, I don’t feel the desperate need to have goals that I used to.
I’m working full-time as a freelancer. I’m married to a wonderful woman. TYG own a house. Six years ago, I would have put home ownership and full-time freelancing on the Never Going to Happen list. I’d have done the same about finding someone to be with, but that was too painful to think of.
It’s not that I don’t want to do more than I am. I want to write many more stories, sell many more stories, get a novel published, sell nonfiction to a wider range of markets, and a bunch of other stuff on the 101/1001 list. But when I’ve set goals like that on past birthdays, it’s usually been with a clear sense that (as the Animals put it) I’ve got to get out of this place—things weren’t working and they need to be fixed.
Now, they’re working. I want better, but if things stay this way for the next couple of years, I’d be okay with that (except for not selling any fiction. That would absolutely suck). That’s a wonderful life-place to be in and it’s not always been true for me.
Of course, the run of success may not last. By this time next year we may be fighting a phony foreclosure case, or I might have a real aneurysm. But knowing bad things might happen down the road is no reason to be miserable when they’re not on the horizon (I’ve let fear of what might come to pass bog me down too many times in my past. No more).
So it’s just a nice relaxing day, with dinner to follow (TYG’s big present was last Saturday, a performance of Pirates of Penzance). No need to plan. No real need to assess the past year for what I did right or wrong. That’s incredibly nice.
Happy birthday to me!

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