Crock’s Thoughts

Most people give ambitious answers like, “Running my own company!” or “Finally owning a house that doesn’t come with a 30-year relationship with the bank.”

Me? Well, you know I’m not that ambitious…

In 10 years, I’ll definitely be older. Possibly wiser. Definitely grayer. And if genetics have anything to say about it—probably making weird old-man noises every time I stand up or sit down. Seriously, why does every future version of me sound like a rusty screen door?

But if I’m lucky—really lucky—here’s the dream…

I see myself sitting on a beach somewhere, rocking a sun-faded hat like I’m auditioning for a Jimmy Buffett tribute band. There’s a half-burnt cigar in one hand, a cold beer in the other, and the faint, glorious smell of pizza drifting through the salty air from a little hole-in-the-wall joint nearby—the kind of place where calories don’t count because you’re on vacation… or retired… or just don’t care anymore.

And what would I be doing? Writing… or reading.

Or maybe just pretending to write while people-watching and judging everyone’s terrible beach fashion choices like some kind of flip-flop-wearing literary seagull.

Because at the end of the day, that’s the dream—good words, good pizza, good beer, and enough peace to appreciate all three.

So where do I see myself in 10 years?

Old. Happy. Full. And probably with pizza sauce on my shirt.

Honestly… now that’s success!