Every now and then, I lift up my head I realize I've missed years.

I see this on social media where a friend's baby is four years old. Or 10 years old. Or graduating from a master's program at Stanford. And I remember only the diapers and the toothless smile. (I have older friends for the latter as well.)

In this last week, I've been looking up recent movies only to find they were released 20 years ago.

I don't know if this is a sign of aging or of being unaware of the passage of time.

Part of being aware in the moment -- which I try to be -- is that I lose the ability to measure the passage of time.

These are nice, peaceful ruminations but what of them?

Shit. I'm 57 and I have stuff to do. There can be no more waiting until next month or next year or flipping tomorrow. I'm reminded of the late actor Leslie Jordan who sold T-shirts that stated, "Well, shit -- what are you waiting for?"

I have to write the great American novel. I will write short stories, one a month about the common man. I need at least one nomination for Best Screenplay and I wouldn't mind a Tony award for Best Original play.

I've buried my head for four years now -- decades more, really. I must lift my head, my awareness, and do what fulfills me.

Watch me, readers. I have work to do before I die.

Peace unto the Ukraine and peace and awareness unto all of you my brothers and sisters.