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.
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 am 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, 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, the 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 once again after years of living
alone, it’s like a rollo-coaster. My wife is wonderful, loving and caring, but
let’s not pretend every moment’s bliss. 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 contemplation. 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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