I'm running out of time. Today marks the last year of my 50s and the plan was to be a multi-millionaire novelist/amateur sleuth by the time I hit 60. My wife and I would travel around in our motor home, trying the local cuisine and meeting eccentrics while encountering a whodunit. She, with her keen eye for detail and sharp listening skills, would find the clues and poke holes in people's stories. I would be her plucky comic relief. What better way to spend our AARP Era than churning out best sellers and solving murders in small towns across the country?

I just don't think it's gonna happen, gang. Not a multi-millionaire. No best sellers. And the closest I've come to solving a mystery is remembering why I went into the kitchen.

This is my 17th annual birthday blog. When I turned 43, I composed a modest paragraph about growing a year older. Birthdays are good for contemplation, an inventory of life events, and the occasional mild existential crisis.

Last year, I wrote that intention for 58 was to be more adventurous. My mantra became "Age but don't get old." I didn't skydive or climb Everest or run a 5K. Any notions I harbored to eat better, exercise more, and generally get off my ass went unfulfilled. But, alas, adventure found me in a not so very awesome way.

Last November -- the Thursday before Thanksgiving to be exact -- I got word that I was being laid off from the job I had held since 2014. Not the news I expected to receive going into the holiday season. I jumped right in and immediately began searching for a new job. My goal was to secure a new one by the beginning of February to minimize any financial hit. A couple of promising opportunities arose but nothing came to fruition. Mostly it was crickets and form rejection notices.

FUN FACT: On three separate ocassions, an AI chatbot conducted my initial screening to see if I was a job match. Those same three companies were emphatic about applicants not using AI to write their resumes or cover letters.

After six months, I eventually landed a job and it feels good to be earning an income again. And insurance. Can't forget the insurance.

But I got pretty down during those six months. Down on myself, down on life. I tried to put on a happy face and forge ahead. I oozed positivity on the outside all day long then I'd lie awake at night absolutely pissed about losing six weeks of annual vacation while an outgoing CEO bagged a $21M golden parachute for his severance. I had to find the small victories each day to protect my sanity. In the moment, they were hard to see. Looking back, those small victories were everywhere.

I got some much-needed yard work done. Not exactly solving small-town murders, I know. But when you're feeling down on yourself, those small accomplishments (especially for this chore averse guy) can feel like monumental achievements. And my proudest achievements came with writing.

In the twelve months between 58 and 59, I self-published my second sci-fi novel, Someone Else's Book Club, the prequel/spinoff to Kilroy Was Here. I then got right to work on the third novel in the Kilroy Universe (Kilroyverse?), The Department of Potentially Dangerous Things. It releases this fall. Releasing two novels in a 12-month period is not something I could've imagined. But, frankly, having more free time to hyper focus on my creativity made it happen. Thanks, Unemployment!

July 30th, 2025 to July 30th, 2026 saw a rather prolific output: two fun short stories on the Metaphysical Furniture blog (a Halloween tale and a Christmas yarn), a series of mysteries featuring a metaphysical detective and some short humor pieces on my website. I also drafted outlines for three other novels, worked on drafts for a screenplay and television pilot, and I even did some practice sessions recording an audiobook for Kilroy Was Here. That last bit led me, at the behest of my wife, to try my hand at auditioning to narrate audiobooks. I submitted dozens of auditions and heard nothing but crickets and form rejections.

No, I'm not where I wanted to be at 59. Life looks much different than it did this time last year. Still, I have much for which I am grateful. My wife Sandy, our two children who have beautiful families of their own, and our five amazing grandchildren. My AARP Era isn't starting with whodunits and eccentric locals but there is a newness to it and there is so much left to do.

As I was writing this, a friend share the following on her Instagram: "Your old life felt safe because you knew exactly how to survive it. Your new life requires you to discover what else you can do. Keep going."

Fair enough. I will keep going. But by the time I'm 65 I fully expect to have sold the movie rights to at least one of my books while vacationing in Maine where Sandy and I will figure out who stabbed the winner of the pie-baking contest with a serving knife at the county fair.