kooky old men.

Do you remember that Shel Silverstein poem about how old people get recycled into babies?

Sometimes I think that I was recycled from a kooky old man. Some of my all-time favorite people are kooky old men. They get me, these old weirdos and I get them. They like to wear comfortable pants and ask weird questions and eat slowly and silently and blurt out honest and often inappropriate statements. They’ve tired of small talk and just want to hear something real.

We’re the same.

I just had lunch with one of my favorite old men. (In his defense, he’s not quite old, but ‘older man’ just has a sort of creepy ring to it, doesn’t it?) At any rate, he is a former boss of mine and instead of asking me where my career has taken me since we last chatted, he just dove right in and asked,

“So, these days, what are you fired up about?”

And I told him about my writing endeavors and, like any cold-blooded Bostonian, I inadvertently fell into conversing about careers and success and progress. And, like any awesomely kooky old man, he interrupted me, asked me to shut up, wiped the sauce off of his chin, and said:

Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re simply supposed to do the things that you love? That perhaps the reason you hated your job with me and the reason you can’t seem to quite find satisfaction in any other career is because you’re just supposed to stop whining and write? And maybe if you weren’t so sensitive to gender roles, you wouldn’t be so hard set on chasing this idea of a career and instead you’d do what you’ll do when you’re my age anyways: exactly what you want.

FOR THE WIN.

If I know one thing about most old men, it’s that they’re right about most things. Maybe they can’t find their glasses and maybe autocorrect gets the best of them, but they know about life stuff, the stuff that matters.

Now, I’m making an effort to sprinkle in some shorter blog posts, so I’ll just finish with this:

What do you love to do? What makes you come alive?

Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re simply supposed to just DO IT? That perhaps a good and creative God placed those gifts and desires somewhere deep in your heart to lead you to a specific place in His creation where you’re needed? And that somehow, wonderfully, chasing our dreams is actually obedience?

The old man in me thinks you should think about it over some pudding and a good pair of wool socks.

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