I'm tired of damn near everything. I can't remember the last time I was really excited—about anything. I mean I literally cannot remember the last time. That's pathetic. No, maybe that's the wrong word. Pathetic would be the right word if I were young because getting excited when we're young is a core emotion and function; there is lots of discovery going on and that can and should be exciting. But I'm not young, I am old. I'm past the male life expectancy number in the U.S.A., so that's old. Oh, I'm still curious about some things, big and small, like what in the hell is this all about—who are we, what are we, where are we, why are we. I'm still not satisfied or convinced by anything I have read or heard so far and I have read most of the important stuff and talked with and listened to a lot of apparently smart people who say they have the answers. But for whatever reasons, I am still as unconvinced as ever. So I am still thinking about those things. And I am still curious and fascinated with what goes on—the complexity of nature, the idiosyncratic behaviors of men, mice, all the rest, including the accomplishments of humans in their inexorable march toward … whatever, which as you should have noticed takes us back to the big questions. Think circular.

But curiosity and fascination don't replace excitement. It's better than nothing, I admit. So it is something. Years ago when I was young I read a quote by an ancient Roman or Greek comedian. I don't remember which. He said he was depressed because all the jokes had already been told, that there was nothing new for him to say. He said that about 2000 years ago. Of course it can be argued that all things are new to each generation and that maybe he was not the most creative guy or maybe he was just a lousy comedian. But maybe he was making a larger point. Maybe he was making an existential statement or observation. We'll probably never know but it doesn't matter because it doesn't change anything. The questions we ask now are the same questions that humans have been asking for, perhaps, as long as we have been here. You see where this has taken me? There is no forethought here; I am just writing this as it comes to me. It's a “thoughts-to-paper” thing.

It should be obvious to you (Of course I have no idea if anyone will ever read this or if they do, who they are—who you are.) by now that I miss excitement in my life, the kind of excitement that at one time really got my juices flowing. It may not be the same kind of excitement that gets you pumped and eager for more; we each have our own set of interests. So just imagine if whatever excites you now—stuff that you eagerly look forward to—were to become mundane, even boring. Like I said, if you are young, that might be pathetic. 

Well, I can tell you, for this old reprobate, the only thing that shifts it a little distance from the proximity of pathetic is the subtle process of getting old. This stuff doesn't happen in a startling flash in time. There is no wow thing—no “Holy crap! What happened?" – moment; at least not for me. It was an insidious, inexorable, sneaky kind of thing. There were a series of displaced moments over a period of years when I felt—at times, with sadness—that something was duller, less purposeful, disturbingly absent. The youthful emotion of excitement was dying.

I know, there are those in my generation who insist that they wake up with a zest for life. I believe some of them—not all but some. Some have different social and family lives than I or have had different life challenges. Those things can sometimes make a difference. Then too we are all wired differently. Nothing new there. For full disclosure I will duly note that most people I know think I have the demeanor and outlook of someone much younger than I am. I hear it often enough to convince me that they're not stroking me. So what's the deal? What's going on? It's simple; it's all about me and how I feel and think about myself. That's what I am writing about—me. That is except for all the others who may share my experience. Not inadvertently, I am also writing about them. It's personal, singular, a simple exposition on one's current life experience—nothing original, nor uncommon.

What's that? Is there anything at all that could, would excite me? Glad you asked because I almost forgot something. If I knew that tomorrow, or sometime very soon, I was going to fly again, I mean at the controls of an airplane—that would excite me. I might even feel that core excitement again if I had a license and knew that I could fly almost anytime I want to! Is that possible? Yes, it is at least possible.

So forget everything I just wrote except for the last two paragraphs. I'm not dead yet.