Turning 60 surprised me like an Amazon package I forgot I ordered — one moment I was in my 30s, full of plans and energy, and the next, I woke up in a body that’s staging a new protest every morning. My knees cracks louder than my opinions now.
And here’s a plot twist: I’ve started avoiding people like they’re offering free pamphlets at a mall. This is weird for me. I used to be a social butterfly, flitting from one gathering to another, always buzzing with a "what's next?" attitude. But lately? Naah. The people and their endless blah blah blah has me dulled.
At first, I thought my wife was the reason. I was glued to her — talking, laughing, thinking of her so much that I didn’t notice or miss anyone else. But now, I’ve realized it’s not her, and it’s not marriage either. It's me. I’m just tired of people. Tired of their exhausting ways of burning precious time, as if life’s some bottomless buffet. Spoiler alert: it’s not.
Time once felt infinite, like a river lazily flowing toward the horizon. Now? It’s more like a kitchen clock, ticking louder by the second. And guess what? I’ve got no patience for the small talk, the gossip, or the "How 'bout them?" chatter anymore.
This world isn’t even the same as the one I grew up in. People now seem surgically attached to their phones, bingeing TV shows, or arguing online about the latest nonsense in politics. And me? I wasted years thinking there’d always be time for meaningless conversations, dead-end friendships, and joyless routines. But now, I’ve hit my no bullshit threshold, and life in Canada, far from my old social circle, has only sharpened my focus.
Trust me, though. Trust is tricky. I used to believe in people, truly thought everyone had good intentions. Then BAM! Divorce hit me like a brick through a window, shattering my naïve view. Betrayals taught me caution, and even now, I find it hard to completely lean into my marriage or plan too far ahead. It’s not bitterness; it’s self-preservation. And let’s face it, humans are selfish and, let’s say it, cheap. Like the friend who cared more about getting a free beer than about me. Seriously?
As for marriage... Sharing my space again after years of living alone? It’s like a rollocoaster. My wife is wonderful, loving and caring, but let’s not pretend every moment’s bliss. Sometimes I need silence, pure and undisturbed. Is it possible to have a peaceful life when you’re not flying solo? Jury’s still out.
So, I’ve officially retired from people-pleasing. Obligations I don’t value? Bye. Shallow conversations? Pass. Invitations to gatherings I don’t care about? Hard no. My time is limited, and I’m guarding it like a bouncer at an exclusive club. These days, I crave connections that matter, conversations that go deep, and time spent feeling full instead of just busy.
Here’s the shock: I’ve accepted that no relationship lasts forever, and that’s okay. In the end, we all walk this road alone. No spouse, friend, colleague, or neighbor can save you. It’s a one-person journey, and the older I get, the more I value simplicity, kindness, and asking life’s big "why?" questions.
Now, some of my happiest moments are in the stillness—quiet mornings with coffee, the sunrise painting the sky, or evenings wrapped in a good book. That solitude people seem so afraid of? It’s my sanctuary.
I’m not avoiding people out of bitterness or anger—it’s all about peace. My peace. So, I’ll take my quiet conversations over crowded rooms, meaningful connections over small talk, and time spent with myself over meaningless drama. And honestly? It feels fantastic.
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