The wall came down

In less than a week, I hit that magic age.  The one where I'm supposed to be well on my way to being set and having everything figured out.  40.  Or at least that's what I thought 40 was supposed to be.  Obviously, I was wrong.  I still have no idea what I'm doing, barely make any more money than I did at 30 (maybe less in fact) and still generally lost.  I've pretty much given up figuring anything out it seems.


When I was a kid in high school, I didn't think I'd live past 25.  And I truly believed that life as we knew it would be over way before the year 2000.  This was mostly due to the Cold War and the prospect of Mutual Assured Destruction.  Everything was going to end in a nuclear fireball.  Those that would make it would wish they were dead.  


And then the Wall fell.  And the Soviet Union collapsed.  Myself and others didn't really know what to do.  We were supposed to be dead.  For a brief few years, there were no enemies. 


Looking back, the nineties were a strange time in that regard.  There was no boogey man, no one to focus our collective fear and rage towards.  There was hope for the future, that maybe we could finally get over ourselves and actually make this a better place.  


Ten years later, that went out the window.


And here I am, almost 40 years old.  Living in my parents house.  I'm not sure what that says.