Some of the people who knew me in school would tell you that I haven’t lived up to my potential. That’s because I got good grades, won a few awards and got into the college of my choice. The people who knew me then probably thought I would make something of myself. I certainly thought so, but whatever this is, this isn’t it. And now, three months and one day short of turning sixty, my potential is significantly foreshortened, compared to what I once thought it was.

On the other hand, I didn’t make much of an impact on the overall high school scene, so this (whatever it is) is probably what could have been predicted by a keen observer. Not that there were keen observers in my high school, any more than there are in any other public high school at any given time in history. As I try to impart to my younger friends, high school means nothing. For the most part, it’s a poor predictor for the rest of your life.

There are times, and most of yesterday was one of those times, when I wonder what it’s all about. Having lived this long (and having had so much potential), should I be spending sleepless nights thinking about how much bait and ice we’re selling? (Yes, we have a bait shop at The Kennel.) I shouldn’t be having imaginary arguments with the Boss that end with me slamming my fist into the wall. (That part isn’t imaginary, by the way.)

Life is too short. I know that, especially now. I just don’t know what to do with that information. I can’t change who I am. I’ve squandered whatever potential I had, and it’s an impossible time to make a drastic lifestyle change anyway. Somehow, even though the sun never came out at all today, I’m feeling generally better about things, for no other reason than that yesterday is behind me. I can’t afford to let one bad day (or even one bad day a week) keep me from looking forward to all the good days, and enjoying them when they come.