Oliver Wendell Holmes taught us that a brain, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions. Science tells us that he was right. Neuroplasticity is how the brain stretches and reshapes. It is also the reason I found myself in my familiar corner of the couch terribly upset.
I’ve been undergoing a change. For one I’ve been pursuing a deeper understanding of Whisky, triggered by a trip to NYC years back and reinvigorated by Changing Hands bookstore (WhistlePig Rye is supposed to be the cut). Still the drinking is the smallest part of what is happening. I am no longer satisfied with my life.
No, I’m not in crisis. I am merely more aware of my capabilities and my personal stagnancy. Maybe its already too late. Maybe all those skills I’ve worked to hone to this point have aged out the way my body has. Maybe I’m over the hill mentally or have reached a point where everyone else is just (mentally and physically) faster and more about it than I am.
It could also be a horrible excuse. I’m good at those lately. Excuses and explanations which in fact do nothing to further the betterance of myself. What I need is a change, more whisky, and the opportunity to reconnect with the passion that fueled me this far.
It will not be easy, but of course nothing worth having ever is.