Life begins

at forty, as the saying goes, and as I enter the line of four, I crane my neck to see what's out there. Certainly when life begins there has to be some sort of ceremony, similar to the fuss and bustle that happens when one is pulled from the womb, when life begins for the first time?

But turning forty is quieter. Perhaps it does seem that way because right before I turned forty, there was so much noise and stress. I had to change psychiatrists. Then I suffered from an anxiety disorder, which turned me into a bag of nerves. Then I had to change psychiatrists again. Then, in an effort to relieve myself of driving-related anxieties I stopped driving and moved out of the apartment I have been living in for five years, moved into a place much closer to the office, a set of exercises that has its own inherent stresses.

And now, I am past the noise for the most part. The dust has settled after the mayhem has died down. Now I am forty, living simply and sharing house with several girls. I now walk to where public transport is. I now carry an umbrella in my bag, and wear rubber boots when it's raining. Once again, I am elsewhere, and by doing a paradigm shift, also living another life, albeit still mine. Let's see where this takes me. I begin.

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