On the one hand, it looks like I have a fun weekend in store. A party on Friday night and choice of parties on Saturday. No need to be up early so no guilt at staying out late. I'll probably get some good poker in while I have the chance.
On the other hand, I like my home life. It's nice to see my sweetie when I get home and know that there are routines to be performed. Let the dog out, feed the cats, make dinner. A rhythm of comfort and joy; settling into a well-loved leather chair.
I wonder, sometimes, how my life would be different (will be different) if I lived alone. Without the socialization of meeting Ericka, living with her for all these years, and maturing among a group of accepting friends I can look back and see the loneliness of my reckless youth. The yearning for companionship that was never quite fulfilled and the abuses to body used to find some relief. I shudder to think where I might have ended up if that pattern had continued.
And I look ahead to the time when I'll likely live alone again. Perhaps by the time I'm 60. Will I have the group of friends I'd like to have? People coming over for parties and games. A mix of peers and younger friends sharing ideas and laughter. Am I doing everything I can to bring that into being?
Probably not. The vision is hazy and the terms ambiguous. They will need sharpening to make them a true goal. Something that can be broken down into tasks and pursued a piece at a time. Nothing like that comes all at once.