I made a reference the other day to wanting to be a professional writer when I grow up. I said that on purpose, to be funny and ironic, because obviously a 72-year-old man is considered by the outside world to be a certified grownup.
But I’m still the same guy I was when this earthly vessel was 7 years old, that is to say, the same consciousness that inhabited this body in 1960 is still in the house.
It’s the old joke, “Inside every old man is a little kid wondering what happened.”
Some of the dreams have never changed. That little kid wrote songs and drew comics, and made believe he was announcing the news or playing DJ, and later wrote poems and bound them into little books. If you’ve spent five minutes on my blog, you know this is that same guy.
But are we there yet? Am I all of what I imagined I would be?
Nah. That’s why I keep writing about what it’ll be like when I grow up.
Oh, what a time that will be.
