I've noticed that I have a waning urge to create as I get older. I think this draining of the creative reservoir is something that affects many of us as we age. Notice that I seldom write here anymore, although whether this really counts as creativity is open for debate. This post comes courtesy of a conversation had while coming back from birding yesterday. One could argue that there is a creative aspect to birding. The taking and processing of photos is somewhat creative. The drive to improve on one's best photos is similar to the drive fueling other types of creativity, but to my mind it's not quite the same. Our conversation centered around writing, so here I am, writing. I formed some half-assed idea that once again I would try to post here regularly. It seems counterintuitive to write here (as opposed to social media, ha ha) where very few people will ever read it, but being a relatively private person, I like the idea of allowing my train of thought to follow the weed-obscured rails into the vast empty spaces of what may or may not be still known as the blogosphere.
I'm currently listening to Mozart's operas, which are at the tail-end of a 170 CD box set of his complete works. I'm still not really an opera fan, but I can appreciate his musical genius a bit more than previously. The man operated on a different plane than most of us.
It's only May, and already this year I've been to Virginia, Illinois, and Arizona. Work chugs along as usual, although I'm becoming increasingly aware of the prospect of retirement. It's a good thing I've got my retirement hobby sorted out early.
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