I remember things better when memories are in blocks and associated with events. The times of my life are defined mostly by the houses I have lived in and the levels of education I have had. These two bookends serve nicely to recall where I was and what I was doing, starting in 1962 (my natal year) to 2005, when we moved to Arizona. The epoch 2005- present has the vague name of “Arizona”, and I am not sure about it. Since 2005 I’ve been in the same house and do the same job, doing the same things really. I have little memory of what had happened these seventeen years. My earlier life was a series of stepping stones towards the next one; I knew where I was headed upon completion: the next stone. Now I have crossed the river and am on the other side without direction. Certainly there have been trips and events x 17 years, but these more or less repeat themselves. I have to look up in my journals which year was when we went to that place or saw that play.

I don’t know whether to be content or freak out. There is an element of discontent to The Arizona Epoch as it slogs on in stasis. Maybe it’s time for a shake up. As my patient from Australia likes to say: there’s nothing like a new frock to brighten up the day. This sounds attractive, something I would like to do, if only to help make memories. I suppose I could change jobs or even careers. I could move – many in Michigan would be happy if I did.

A part of me that feels those sort of shenanigans wouldn’t help; it’s along the line of a man in middle-age buying a sports car or getting a second marriage trophy wife. That would be acting out rather than working on what really needs to be done – whatever that is.

As I type this, I ask myself, what really needs doing? What is mundane happenings done without mileposts can be looked upon as OK and not a sign of something needs a shake up. Or does it?

My week will be no different from any others I have. I will work, I will go to the gym. I will walk the dog and make meal kits. In the evening I will stretch and read and sleep to rinse and repeat. Is life to be this way until I die, and if that is so, is this OK? No clear answers.

Scribbling down my thoughts this morning didn’t clarify things but made my ambivalence merely more conscious. I will ponder this some more. Am I in my last Epoch of life? What would I want really in the ‘Post-Arizona” Epoch?