When you decide that you're going to change your life around in a year, you have to start with day one. That's usually a Monday, for whatever reason. Maybe because Sunday is slow and boring and it lets you sit around all day thinking about what a failure you have been at life to this point. You can literally spend hours on Sunday doing nothing but think about how crappy your job is, what a fat-ass you've become, all the girls you could have had in college but never had the balls to speak to, how old you're getting, how little you've seen of the world, and how your dog doesn't even respect you.
That takes up about half a day, right there.
So, you committ to Monday. That's gonna be the day, you tell yourself. That's when the comeback begins.
That's what I did this past week.
I just turned 32. My job is okay but far from being exciting or fullfilling. It is a garden salad compared to a steak dinner I was always hoping for when it came to a career. I don't make a lot of money. I live wayyyyy too close to my parents. I haven't had a girlfriend in years and, what's worse, can't remember the last time I had a conversation with a woman where, at some point in our discussion I thought to myself, “you know, I have a really good shot of getting laid tonight.”
So, on Sunday, I made my descision. Monday was going to be my own personal Andy Dufresne Day. I was gonna climb out the other side of that shit-pipe like Dufresne did near the end of Shawshank Redemption, look up to the heavens as the purifying rain beat down, take off my shirt and spread my arms as a free man.
That's what you think when you start something. It's all farting rainbows and belching little cherubs. What did I imagine my Monday going like? Well, here's a little rundown of what I thought was possible:
Wake up at 6:30 a.m. and actually feel good that my alarm clock went off. Jump into the shower, singing a Bobby Darin song as my dog grew the opposable thumbs needed to feed himself for the morning.
Leaving for work, I would find a package on my front door. “You earned it, kid,” would be the only thing written on the note to the box while, inside, there would be exactly $120 million in very, very large bills.
Feeling so energized by my new found wealth, I would decide to walk the 42 miles to my job and, in the process, burn off approximately 60 pounds and do a significant amount of toning. Also, during the trip, the fresh air would suddenly make me look a lot more like Leonardo DiCaprio.
At the office, I would inform my bosses that, effectively immediately, I would be leaving. “That's fine,” they say, “as long as you can take today to train our new employee.”
Who is that new employee? Why none other than Jennifer Love-Hewitt.
“So, you're the new girl?” I say in my most charming, Leo-esque voice.
“I guess so,” she says, and we both smile wide, because our love is so deep.
After the day is over, I offer to drive Jennifer home and she accepts. On the ride, she informs me that she wants to go to my house, instead.
“You don't want to go home at all?” I ask her.
“That is my home,” she says, and we smile at each other because our love is so deep.
Arriving at my house around 7 p.m., a fully loaded 2011 Corvette, the only one made so far, sits in the driveway. “You're tops, kid,” says the note. I jump in and me and Jennifer ride around all night long, the top down, listening to music and pulling off to the side of the road to make out every once in a while, because our love is so deep.
That's sorta the day I had in mind.
What really happened?
Woke up at 6:30 a.m. and hit the snooze button, uttering some inaudible curse at my alarm clock in the process.
Got up, dragged myself into the shower, my dog taking the time by himself to sniff his own ass repeatedly, which is a true gift of his.
Got into work where some douchebag reader (I'm the editor of a local newspaper) decided to leave a nasty message about one of her insignificant press releases not making it into the paper. I immediately regret not calling in sick.
Around lunch time, I think about stopping at the gym next to my office, except for the fact that the walk from my desk, out the door, to my car nearly collapsed a lung. Twenty minutes on the treadmill would probably stroke me out.
At lunch, I chose between a nice garden salad and a hot-wing bar set up at the local grocery store for the first time. The salad looked like a plate full of night crawlers by that point, so count me in for some wings.
At night, I turned on the TV, settled in to watch some Kitchen Nightmares with Gordon Ramsey (so that I could watch other people have an equally shitty day as myself) and eventually got ready for bed.
Fantasy world – 1
Reality world – 0
I don't know if anyone is actually going to read this blog or not. I think a lot of it is simply for me and my own personal interest. If I write down all the things I am able to do, or not do, it might give me an indication of what I am doing wrong. I have to think of it almost as a life audit, and I think this blog can help.
What I want by April of 2011?
I want a clear vision of my career future, a lot of financial independence, to lose at least 60 pounds, and to find someone I can honestly, absolutely say I can love. So, to make it clear to anyone reading this, I want my life to resemble The Apprentice, Deal of No Deal, Biggest Loser, and The Bachelor (I will be soooo pumped if the next 12 months includes 25 hot and horny bachelorettes).
I don't think 32 is too late to change your life. I don't think 32 means that you are who you have been. I don't think the next 40 or 50 years have to be a series of second places. And, this year is as good as any to begin to do something about it.
How?
Very good question. I am gonna make it up as I go along, but I am hoping to chronicle it all if, for no other reason, than to amuse myself along the way.
It has been 32 years of me. I am hoping that stops now.
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