A neighbor placed a television beside their driveway. They were offering it free to passersby. By coincidence, one had recently broken down in our home.
I didn't take the freebie.
The time I spend watching television has dwindled. Its appeal does not jive with my middle aged mindset.
An urgency has come to the fore of my life. To achieve the dreams I've deferred, I need to get off my butt and get cracking. Like other middle aged guys, I'm peeling away the Walter Mitty mask. No more screwing around.
This urgency isn't confined to temporal matters. Moral implications factor in more than before. I contemplate how the things I say, and do, and fail to do, will affect me on my day of judgement. That reckoning is looming closer. At fifty-six years of age, I can't ignore it any more.
Watching television distracts me, a late bloomer, from the pursuit of dreams. It plays no role in laying a moral foundation impacting the fate of my soul.
I am not a moralizer turning my nose up to the networks. I watch a few hours of television each week. Some shows are pretty darn good. I was glued to the tube when the Boston Celtics battled the New York Knicks during the NBA playoffs.
Television competes with a midlife crisis. That's why this middle aged viewer is cutting back on it.
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