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This Time Next Year

“Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.” 
― Fyodor Dostoevsky

If I, or any of us for that matter, were to look at where we are now and then look back each year to that exact time, how many years can we say were really any different from the year before? Notice how I didn't say years, because if one looks at themselves five, ten, twenty years or more back, we obviously change, but out evolution into who we are today, right now, is a slow process.

Last year at this time, I was in the exact same place, the same predicament, sans having to move, same gripes, same failures, same short term ambitions, and a very similar emotional state. The year before, slightly different, but very similar surroundings, just another locale. The year before that, while miserable, both mentally and physically, the typical day was not much different. These past few years did bring joy, in the form of a beautiful niece and nephew, but they are too many miles away to affect my daily life. I do wish for that to change, but I wonder, often, how much more would I really see them? My brother and I lived seven miles away for quite some time and spike as much and saw each other only when one needed the other's help. The two summers before those, I were similar to those two years. The summer before that, I was leaving Westchester, a huge difference from now, but when I look at where I was the previous ten years, the change was gradual. So gradual in fact, It's hard to believe that this stagnation started when I was 34. I am now 49. There has not been a monumental change in my life since my mother died and with the exception of relationships starting and ending, my inner circle had remained unchanged for nearly 30 years, only really adding other, smaller circles. Those circles are all gone in my material world, So what next?

I feel as if life has passed me by, despite being extremely cognizant about not letting this happen. I loathe the concept of striving to be content, but when I look back, I long for it. Happiness? Even the word gives me a chuckle. Happiness is something other people have, which I have been fortunate to witness, maybe even take part in, before returning to my humble existence. Solitude does not bother me, although in times of extreme pain, has brought on fear, even anxiety. Too many I've known have died alone and it is a pang of great guilt I carry with me. I myself, am not afraid of death, but afraid of what will become of others without me. No, this is not pride, nor is it narcissism, but a fear of who will take care of my cat, be the rock for some, the shoulder for others, and the tragic thought of never seeing what will become of those who call me an uncle.

I do not think, but for a few, the world would change drastically without me, but that is not in any way to say I want to leave it. I want more for others and want to see them achieve it. I want this time next year for those who are unhappy to be happy, for those who are burdened to have that weight lifted, and for those in pain to have relief. I want for myself too, but I would much rather smile at other's glory than to enjoy the spoils myself. Some say "You make your own path," but I seem to have become have been hiking on it for too long, almost always uphill. I just want to look back next year, my 50th, and say that was the year that things changed. They need not be monumental changes, but great enough that this time next year, I'm not so inclined to write part, ha, I'd like to say two, but I know better.

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