Since approaching 30 (seven months away) I’ve created a few superficial things to do before that milestone, for no other reason than saying “I did that in my 20’s” and it seems my list is actually quite… boring. I had to keep it realistic, so the idea of travelling was out the window (listen, I work a 9-5 and my holidays have already been used for this year). Realistic, for me, is reading books, watching films, learning something at a basic level. I wish I could say I wrote a book in my 20’s, but I don’t think that will happen. I wish I could say I wrote a screenplay in my 20’s, but that might not happen either. Being published, in any capacity would be brilliant, but it’s not really looking like something on the horizon at this moment–though that won’t stop me from writing my poetry. I wish I would have written/released some music I was proud of as well (I guess I did technically record and release an album with my high school band. Hey! cool!)

Infinite Jest, Gravity’s Rainbow, White Teeth, Giovanni’s Room… and more. There’s a strange list of books I’m promising myself to have read “in my 20’s” but none of it really matters, does it? And the internet lists don’t help at all. They’re so extreme in their scope, forgetting that I’m just a mid-sized-city boy working a full time job. And I’m married! I don’t have time for a one night stand in Peru after investing in my retirement fund.

So what should I honestly do before turning 30 in 202 days? Is there anything that will ascribe worth to my 20’s? Or at least, more worth? (I’m a bit of a worrier but I don’t think my entire 20’s were for nothing). It’s comforting to know I won’t have kids in my 20’s though.

I look back in anger; at 24 I could have just started writing, seriously, and considered myself firmly a writer. Here, 5 years later, I still spend the days wishing I did it, still not able to call myself a writer, or a musician, or any of the extreme things I wished to do in avoidance of working a 9-5 and feeling unfulfilled.

Ok, so here’s another issue in my life. Is it normal to feel like kids and a steady job is being unfulfilled in life? Because for me, that’s complete and utter failure. Not to sound extreme. I equate success with happiness, at the end of the day, and those things don’t provide happiness for me. If I want to spend my 30’s happy I have to write. Every day. But I have to find a way to focus that writing into something specific, don’t I? This is a nice outlet, but it’s not the way out of my situation. I have to write that screenplay I always dreamed I wrote. Or the collection of short stories I feel proud of; so proud I can take them to real publishers with a note attached that just says, “please.” I know nobody gets wha they want just because they tried and there’s more to it than that, but I need a hopeful start. I see myself ultimately unfulfilled, but at least truthful if at 39 I’m un-published, but have a stack of work I’m proud of. Today, at 29, there isn’t a stack. There’s loose pages, scattered across many mediums, many notebooks, of thoughts, scribblings, poems that I care for more than I care to admit in person. There’s me, in fragments, but you don’t have the entire person.

Should I countdown to 30? Should I just fuck it all up and go extreme in my pursuits? Forego any rationale I’ve agreed upon up ’til now and just blow it all up? Leave work. Struggle with money. Worry every moment about what I’m doing. Will that push me? Or is it a suicide? There’s no way to know. 202 days. I’m already the oldest failure amongst the crowd, but I’m also the youngest I will ever be again and time is linear.

Insert here a sentiment re: my golden years.