I was talking to some people the other day and one of the crowd, an acquaintance rather than a close friend, started moaning about January being the most depressing month of the year. I chipped in that I was having the best January in years. He recoiled.
I turned 65. Nothing frightening about that, in fact I am quite enjoying it. But self-same chap said something along the lines of: "It's no comfort getting old." I have no idea what he meant. In this day and age, he may have "issues" and I must respect that notion.
In financial terms, a few pension things kicked in and that's nice and comforting, after nearly fifty years of sometimes frustrating and sometimes rewarding work. I think I can relax enough to say I paid my dues and most things have turned out okay.
But it's my new persona that I want to pursue now. Writer. After about fifteen years of getting things published - features, reviews, some poetry, some fiction, a few (mostly self-published) books - it has become my "old age" passion.
I have several projects on simmer, and one very important one with a professional editor. I have other non-writing events to look forward to - Japan, New York - but much more importantly, I am on course to become a Granda for the first time. (By the way, Granda is not a typing error re Grandad. Granda is a traditional title in my family's history, so I'm proud to carry it on.)
January, 2019, depressing? Here I am off and running on a new phase of life. I couldn't be more inspired, enthused and excited.