Where Does the Time Go?

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Day 125 in Las Vegas

I'm trying not to waste time. I'll turn 51 next month, breaking the half-century mark and I'm skittish enough to worry about the time I have left. I want to accomplish so many things in my life but time seems to be slipping away.

I work a 9-5 job weekdays to pay bills. My passions are located in other places: the card rooms around Vegas, an art studio, my blogs. And I like to play, too. I've never been accused of being a workaholic. I'm more interested in pursuing my passions.

I have four blogs which I need to address each day: MyRoadArt, Writefinger, Novel Ideas, and SolaSendero. Writing content for these blogs takes time. Blogs are leeches of content, starving for something to eat. They are worthless without daily attention and feeding. And the blog Novel Ideas concerns a novel I'm writing. (I know...everyone wants to write a novel before they die.) Writing a novel also requires a tremendous amount of hard work. A writer must write each day. It's not a choice, but a requirement to survive much like breathing.

I love to draw and paint. I aspire to be an artist. I want to spend time in an art studio. But when do I find the time? Some of the happiest moments of my life were spent in my small studio in Carmel Valley. I need to return to the studio.

I'm serious and passionate about playing poker. I'm at home in a card room, spending time with friends and foes alike, betting on the come, laughing, crying, feeling all the emotions of a competitive sport while sitting in plush chairs surrounded by the wonderful sounds of clinking chips. At times a card room can be Heaven on Earth. It can also be Hell. I feel comfortable there.

If only there were time to all the things swirling around inside my head, the ideas born of desires and ambitions beyond my reach. I believe we can have it all, the desires of our hearts, if we apply ourselves with a ruthless determination to succeed. Saints and sinners alike have the same 24 hours to accomplish what they will.