I have confession to make… I am getting boring. Yep me… Third degree, dyed in the wool, weapons grade boring. Call it age; call it a brutal work schedule; call it a personality flaw… do your best, but I’m getting dull, and worst of all I’m ok with it!
I remember several years ago when we were planning our usual weekly outing to The White Tavern on Smith St. I called a friend of mine to join us and as usual, as expected, he shot me down flat. I knew he would, because he always did, but I still persisted to no avail. I simply couldn’t understand why he would opt for a self imposed house arrest session, when he was more than welcome to help us tear the walls out of our favorite weekend haunt. “What a loser” I thought.
He wasn’t married, he didn’t have work for the next two days, he wasn’t training for a marathon or body building contest or in a medical study of how a lack of beer makes you weaker… so why stay home, why not party? Then came my early forties.
Now here I am, those days in the rear view mirror, about to confess to my Saturday nights turning from a wild bar and “beers a plenty”, to a couch- Netflix- and an early session of sawing wood. In fact this past Saturday found me on the couch while my girlfriend Erika watched not one, not two, but three, yes three movies back to back (that’s four and a half hours) uninterrupted while I dosed… and when I stirred from my slumber, I took that opportunity to get up and go to bed.
I’m still in my forties for several more years yet but I’m not fighting the boring moniker any longer. I think there is a peaceful and calming “right-of-passage” that we all go through, where at the other end of the journey we emerge especially average, completely usual and a boatload smarter as a result.
I’m boring, I’m working at getting better at it... and you’ll understand soon too.