I was talking to a couple of guys last night at poker. I've met them before and know their names, but I don't know much else about them. Turns out that one of them is a year older than me and one of them a year younger; 53 and 55.

In between calling bets, folding and raising we mumbled a comment each about 'getting on a bit':

"Time is no longer unlimited. It makes for greater focus."

"I've been through a lot, survived all kinds of situations. I don't worry about little things anymore."

"It's not too bad. I preferred being younger."

I think one of these was really said. I just made up the other two. No one really talks about anything meaningful at a poker table. We're all trying to win the hand. If nothing else, it is a game that demands concentration (for optimum play).

But what of getting older? Hitting the mid fifties?

It is a surprise somedays, to look in the mirror at myself and notice that my face and head have aged. Of course, I know that decades have passed since I was young. I was there. But at the same time, it doesn't feel like that long. 

If I was to still look 35 or even 40, I would not find it discomforting or strange. It's as though the ageing of the body kind of rushes on ahead, on it's own volition, at a certain point and then calls out to you, 'Hey look! This is you! You've got grey! You've got wrinkles now! Less hair - on the head - and more inside the ears!'

Acceptance is the only option, of course. A cynical surrender. A dissassociative shrug.

On the inside remains the sterling will, the sharp focus, the tuned awareness. In fact, over time, some of the internal mechanisms have actually improved. Experience is the greatest of teachers. Lessons have been learnt. Dues paid. 

And then you start to consider people who you have know or have met or interacted with over the last while who are in their sixties and seventies. You don't feel quite as distanced from them anymore. You understand the slight slowing down, the laid back attitude, the inner quiet that some possess.

You realise that you are on the verge of joining a new club. You are also on the verge of leaving an old one. Younger people aren't seeing you as one of them any more. They haven't for a while probably. But you are noticing it more. It's fine, it's alright, because you have been in the club for long enough. It's activities don't interest or inspire like they used to. You are seeking something different. Something with new rewards. 

It is not all about more, more, more anymore. It is not about being as extreme as possible. It is not about affectation. It is not about talking up your game, seeking attention.

There is no time for these things. Time has become more precious. You want to fill it with things of true value. Things that are meaningful and enduring. 

If you really think about it, you realise that it is all laid out for you. The process. The sequence of a life. It has been done by all before and will be done by all after. Your perception shifts in an age-appropriate way. In a sense, there is no option. You realise the limits of being. But you also realise the miraculous wonder and grace and beauty of it all. You realise that you are only a tiny player in a massive game. You, in truth, are of little consequence. You will, whether you like it or not, be leaving before too long. It may still be a few decades off but what's a few decades? Weren't you just 35 yesterday?

And time goes faster, too. That you can attest to. Days whiz by. A year isn't long. This has it's benefits, too, though. You know that you can plan things in advance, work towards things and that the future will bring reward if you do. You have seen how things work. You have made the mistakes. And you have learnt.

So, it seems, a life is just that. It is something to experience. A complex, intricate sequence of events that connect together in the form of days lived and things done. All the emotions generated and spent, all the people that have come and gone, the places visited, the experiences lived through. All that. And what? Here you sit writing about it all, and it's as though it was just a story. There is no proof. No one else cares, not really. It has all amounted to nothing - in some ways. And yet - there are feelings of, I don't know, accomplishment, achievement, value, dignity, honour, amusement, bewilderment, satisfaction, acceptance....

It's like... OK. Hmmm... OK. Let's just keep going, then. I kind of get the idea now. I'm past the middle, heading into the third act. I still have some options. I shouldn't waste them (like I have in the past) (as you do). 

I have become someone. I have an identity. A past. I can work with it. There is a level of comfort, familiarity. I know what works and what doesn't. I'm going to gather up what remains available to me, take a clear and honest look at my current position and situation and see what I can do to create something interesting, something of worth. 

Yeah, I'm still here. I'm going to give it a shot. See if I can't surprise myself, outdo myself, extend myself beyond limitations set in the past. If this is me now, who is the me that I am going to be in ten years from now? Who do I want that to be? Pretty sure no one else is going to make it happen. I'm going to step up. Yeah, I'm going to really start living. Not the kind of living you do when you are young and it's all presented to you, tank full and no limits. No, a new kind of living. Decidedly different. A take-control but let-it-go kind of thing. A new awareness. A new care. A new gratitude. And with all that - a new chance to fully discover and perhaps even become one's truest, true self.

​Sounds like a plan.

As well as self expression, through images and poetry, as well as notations of the artistic experience, I have been utilising this space as a record keeping venue. Somewhere to express my memory of experiences from my past that had impact and meaning to me.

Over the past decade or so, my reading has become almost exclusively autobiographies and memoirs. I just finished Kim Gordon's book, Girl In A Band. I had no idea who she was before picking up the book but it gave off a good vibe. She is a lucid writer and observer and I found it engaging and enriching. I had never heard a Sonic Youth song before, but once I got half way through the tome, I hit You Tube and checked a few of them out. It enriched my reading experience to have done so.

I think an artist's life informs their creativity and creative output. Of course it does. Der. But what I am saying is that it's not only stuff about art and making things that is interesting. The details and situations, the feeling and experiences of a person, not necessarily ostensibly related to creation are, in and of themselves, equally as nourishing and informative as the artistic stuff. 

If you think about it we are actually all living works of art. Works in progress. What we do, what we choose, how we elect to express our personalities through our behaviour and actions are not only intriguing but they also add up to form a picture of a human's being that can broaden the outlook of and inform, inspire the observer in their own lives. 

That's why I like to read memoirs. At the moments I am reading about a mercenary in Afghanistan. I've been reading the true life account of Shirley Maclean's daughter, snippets of Julia Bishop's personal story, the highs and lows of a mountaineer, a drug loving chef from Newtown, photographer Sally Mann's erudite tome...

These are lives vastly different from my own. But what I love is hearing their voices, reading about their choices and the consequences. Understanding their feelings and motivations in important moments. it is comforting to connect. I acknowledge that they have taken the time to open up - some more than others - and to share what is meaningful and cherished to them. 

Some of my favourite memoirs are the more obscure ones. A guy that grew up in orphanages around Queensland, a woman who fell in love with a Columbian coke dealer, a man wrongfully imprisoned in Lebanon, etc, etc. If it rings true and feels real, it has an impact and value for me.

So, that's possibly one of the main reasons I have chosen to share some of my stories in this blog. Because, frankly, also, if I didn't then there are things that no one would ever know. Huge (to me) life experiences that would be just blow away like leaves in the wind. Of course, there are many, many such experiences that will never be revealed - ones that I choose not to share for whatever reasons as well as ones that simply do not come to the forefront of my consciousness when I am in the writing mood. 

If you really think about it, probably 90% of our internal lives - including the stories we make up about our real life experiences and the meaning we give to them - are never to be uncovered, never reach the surface. They make up the smouldering flame of our deepest, truest selves. They give warmth and flavour to our personalities, they mould our characters.

I remember when I was younger, more social, my friends and I would share our stories. Tell of what formed us. Certainly, my closest girlfriends from over the years have heard some of the most poignant, shocking, elucidating true life tales from my childhood till my 50th. After that, I have gone solo. My new girlfriend is my blog. 

Maybe not. There's no cuddling or sex. But my blog has become my confidante. 

Don't I worry about these things being read by people I know, people I don't know? (Which is better/worse? Hmm...)

No, I don't. We are all the same. My story becomes yours and yours becomes mine. There is no shame in being a human. We do what we can. We do what we must. 

And sometimes, some of us get to share the juicy bits. Like a repast. A delicious meal. Served up and ready to devour. The best food comes from real ingredients cooked by a chef with the right intentions. One who wants to share, one who wants to brings joy, knowledge, passion to anyone who cares to listen/read.

And this blog sometimes serves as my humbe kitchen. My life experiences the raw food. My words the oil and spices.

Feast.

There's a lot of implied pressure and expectations these days from mainstream society to be ambitious, aggressively proactive in pursuit of career and financial success. It has always been present, growing since the eighties, but with the massive increase of numbers of strivers, step-uppers and wanna-be-famousers it has become even more competitive out there in every field. It is a way that many people, in fact, measure their self worth.

The downside of this is that for every winner there are many losers. As well, the make-it-at-any-cost attitude does no favours for the moral integrity of the game players. Egos battle, feelings are disregarded, the non-achievers are scoffed at and relegated to the fringes. The whole game is one that gives massive financial rewards to the top of the pyramid and a pittance to the bottom. Obviously, it is not fair. In fact, it is blatantly unhealthy and unethical. 

There are other options to partaking in this ruthless hunger for gold, however. There are other ways. Better ways. It means first seeing beyond the noxious and infectious fumes of capitalism and materialism. It requires one to see the big picture, ponder on the finer points of existence and choose an alternative that is uniquely suited. The choices are vast, though, in some cases they may require some contemplation, as well as a pinch of courage, a glint of resolve.

It all begins with you. Who are you? What do you believe in? What are your natural instincts, passions?

By listening to yourself, your inner voice and paying it heed, you will start to find your direction. Ignore the calls and shouts of the outside world - family, school, the media - this is a very personal thing and the answers come from within your self.

Whatever you choose to pursue - and you can chop and change as you feel the need - or pursue multiple paths at once - do so with commitment and integrity. If what you are doing makes you happy, feel valuable, feel worthy, feel empowered - then you are on the right path.

I don't know why I have started to sound like a self help book. So, I'll curb it. I guess, though, what I am trying to say is that there are unlimited options - helping your grandmother, kayaking, salsa dancing, sewing, cooking, volunteering, spontaneous travel - and that they exist across a wide spectrum. One needs to not be narrow minded. One needs to question. To seek answers. To acknowledge one's own internal struggle and not look away. Stay with it. Stay with yourself. Invest in yourself.

Oh, no. Self help book lingo returns. Ich! Sorry.

I suppose I am speaking to the young. I am trying to encourage the rewarding journey of self creation. Climbing walls and peeking over. Going too far sometimes. Getting lost. Feeling the pain of existence. 

A lot of the best things in life are not written about in magazines. Or online. They are secret treasures. They are precious and personal. They are yours to seek and discover. There is no map. You need to trust. You need to keep searching - for that thing - that thing! - the whatever it is that only you know.... 

Reality is only limited by your imagination. And your imagination knows no bounds.