Power of 40

I’m using the psychological magnitude of turning four-oh to, I hope, galvanise myself into action on some long overdue goals. Here they are:

1. Have a draft manuscript of a non-fiction book completed.
I don’t know whether I want to seek publication, self-publish, or make it an e-book, but that decision can come later. By September 28 I want the draft done.

2. Fit into my leather pants.
I have these fabulous leather pants. They look awesome on my shins and calves, but my thighs and butt really feel the chill. They’re too gorgeous to languish on a hanger, so come September 28, I want them out of the closet.

3. Renounce rescuing.
I’m one of those people who thinks they can save the world; who sees solutions to everyone’s problems if only they’d do what I think they should; who over-empathises with everyone and feels hyper-responsible for everything. It’s a pain for my (generally unwilling) rescuees, and a bigger pain for me – after all, having the entire world rely on you is exhausting. Frankly, I’m over it. If the world is determined to remain unsaved and people persist in having their problems despite my best efforts over the past four decades, then I have to face the reality that my powers, surely, must be in question. It’s time to hang up my cape. Well, maybe I’ll surrender the rescuing, but keep the cape. I like capes.

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