Life is a lot like raising kids, you keep thinking the next stage is going to be easier. Ha, that light I thought was the end of the "tunnel?" I'm beginning to wonder if it's a train.
I tried to explain to my teenage looking foot doc the other day that guy's like me dutifully mount treadmills for the better part of our lives only because of a dream that dangles at the end of our sticks. For him to change the rules just when I'm about to wrap my long-suffering, grubby little fingers around that "golden years" fantasy life, well, it kinda sucks.
I knew better than to seek medical advice. Doc's love to run tests and attach bizarre names to our aches and pains. Then they tell us not to do this and this and this... all of which just happens to describe the "dream" at the ends of our sticks! It's uncanny, isn't it? Never go around turning over rocks. Let sleeping dogs sleep. Ignorance is bliss... or at the very least, an extended "hall pass."
I don't particularly like the pills that quell my aches and pains because they also numb my spirit. So I tried rereading an old "Self Help" book. The "Paperback Quack" tells me to "Live in the Now." Gee, I hope I'm around when one of those guys has a car wreck, "How's the Now treating you Now, Buster?"
So Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to wallow in my past and meddle in my future... drag out the good ole' glory days and my crystal ball... in order to muddle through a restricted Now.
Hey "Deepak," not everybody's present is all hunky-dory!
Here's the deal. Type "A" personalities are by definition "inpatient bastards." We tire of "rest" and waiting on tomorrow. Tell one of us Type "A's" that we're going to die tomorrow and we'd just as soon "get 'er done!" Lately, I see it as a blessing, disguised as a curse. One can't really live if one goes around all worried about dying. If an earlier grave is a potential "side-effect" of "living," well, fair enough. After all, "Quality trumps quantity," it says so in the Bible, or someplace. Besides, "side-effects" only pertain to "others." Hell, even Placebo Groups get side-effects.
Now that I'm getting old as scum on Walden Pond and have a few nagging hitches in my giddy-up, death doesn't frighten the living out of me anymore. When "old reliable" begins to leave a plume of blue smoke out the exhaust I'll just add another quart of oil and keep on going. That's the "blessing, disguised as a curse," to not be afraid of dying. It's as lubricating as a quart of oil, as liberating as a good poo. It makes me want to go bungie jumping and wing-suiting... maybe do a little two-step dance with my Lovely on an airy ridge line of rotten rock, not all that far from Heaven's Gate.
|Bobbie tackles a vertical section on the Ridge Line route to our "backyard" 14'er, Mount Sneffels|
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Have a great week!
Have a great week!