Grey light, new day, leaks through the window.

I’ve always been kind of “older than my age.” I was very young when people started telling me I had an “old soul,” and though I didn’t really know what that meant at the time, I definitely didn’t take it as a compliment.

I lost my virginity at an early age. Throughout my adolescence and teenage years, I tended to date/hook up with people that were considerably older than me. I listened to music that was unlike what most of my “peers” were listening to. One of the albums that defined my fifth grade year was The Cure’s “Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me,” while my friends rocked out to the likes of New Kids on the Block and Rob Base.

I was always in a hurry—always desperate to go, go, go. “Stop and smell the roses” was an idea that was not only completely foreign to me, but one that actually pissed me off. What was the point of stopping, when there were so many other places to go?

So I went careening through my twenties, and now here I am, towards the end of them, and without any warning whatsoever I seem to have come to a screeching halt. I guess I never saw myself making it this far, and now that I have, I’m kind of at a loss. As a very young child, I actually had fantasies of dying alongside my entire family: parents, brother, grandparents, great aunts and uncles, even the family dog. We’d just be walking down the street on a beautiful, sunny day, and without any warning or fear we’d drop dead. What can I say. I’ve always had a dark streak.

But here I am, fantasy evaporated, life having followed a much more normal (and less tragic) course in which people drop dead one by one, on their own terms, of their own accord. And me, with a life spread out before me that I never anticipated, that I seem to be at a loss to know what to do with.

And this is not uncommon. So many people I know are grappling with the same feelings, day in, day out. The neverending search for meaning in a meaningless world; that endless quest for a purpose in a place that feels completely purposeless; the desperate need to create some goodness in a world that just seems less and less good.

There are things I can and will do. I’ll keep exploring ways in which I can use these hands to create and bring some measure of art and/or beauty (however small) into the world. And while this may have only a small and insignificant effect, I guess it’s something. It’s something more active or constructive than consuming; than just watching or reading or thinking.

I’ll train for and run another marathon. Or even a triathlon. Which means I’ll finally buy another bike to replace the warhorse I sold last year. I’ll go skydiving. I’ll go to Austin and Atlanta.

I’ll keep hugging and kissing and fucking and exploring what it means to be a good partner in something good and life-affirming.

But first, for some reason, I feel I have to make it through the winter. Then I can start on these things. First, I have to hibernate. Close my eyes. Lick my wounds.

Old man winter, be our friend.