…a year makes. Here I am, just freshly turned 39 — yesterday, in fact.
A year ago, when I had just turned 38…I went on vacation and suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning that put me in a Virginia hospital. The effects lasted for a month afterward.
My marriage was severely on the rocks. We hit a low time in our relationship, one I don’t wish to repeat.
My job was stagnating. Day in, day out, the same thing.
Today? We’re planning to go back to Virginia in just under two weeks. I’m scared of it, a bit, and excited for it, a lot. My marriage? Still kind of crummy…not a lot of happiness in our house, but there’s more than there was, and I think we’re on the mend. I’m leading a $500,000 project at work, with actual hopes for recognition, if not a real raise or anything.
And best of all, I’ve been accepted to a decent MBA program and will be starting classes in a bit less than five months. My life will be crazy. I will be driving three hours to school every other weekend. I will have reading and homework every night, and it will take time from my family. My work will not slow down, and I will be frazzled. And I’m planning on enjoying every last minute of it. (maybe not the increased screaming from my 2-year-old twins)
I am actually working TOWARD something. Something better, at that. I have a purpose. I have a goal. I have something to make me feel young and alive. I need to feel young and alive. I’m ashamed at all of the years I’ve wasted, and I don’t want to do that anymore. In 2011, when I am 41 years old, I will hold a fresh, new MBA in my hands, and I will hit the ground running. I will get a new career and earn twice the money I earn now, and I will provide a better life for my family.
They surely deserve it.