***Still catching up for the days I missed while in Oklahoma. Here's Saturday's post***
I came to a bit of an unusual decision today. The decision itself isn’t really that unusual, yet the realization of the decision and the ramifications of said realization are a bit alarming and possibly a tad morbid.
I want to live to be seventy.
I know, seems to be a no-brainer, right? Living = good, right? And yes, I do thoroughly enjoy my life as well as living in general. Nevertheless, I think I’ve always assumed that I was going to have a pretty merry journey toward fifty, when some bad habits of mine (poor posture, poor eating habits, etc) would really start catching up with me, and I’d spend five or ten years feeling pretty physically miserable but enjoying my family until I, ya know. Was done.
I’ve never really dwelled on this for too long, don’t worry. I realize it sounds terribly morbid when I put in out in print (possibly why I’ve never actually done so). Contemplating your own death is kind of a creepy thing to do, anyway. Nevertheless, when I have looked forward as far as I can, I really never saw myself getting to sixty, and I’ve been pretty okay with this. I have always been prepared to live good, full years, no matter how many of them I have. And that’s a good thing, right?
Right.
Today, however, I realized something: that isn’t how I want my life story to end. I’m twenty-six. I was just barely twenty-five when Robbie was born. When he’s thirty, I’ll be well into my fifties. According to my earlier plan, I’ll be in the home stretch.
Well, I thought today as I watched him sleep for a couple of hours, that sucks.
I do want to live to be old. I do want to have a shot at a 50th wedding anniversary, like Kim’s grandparents are celebrating tomorrow. I don’t want to leave Robbie and any siblings he may have wondering how to take care of their mother while they’re essentially still establishing themselves in the world.
I realize I’m not even thirty yet, and it’s odd to talk this way so young, but dangit, I want to live!
Me dying would be such an inconvenience for everyone else I care about, ya know? ;-)
So with that said, I gotta change some things, starting now. I have to eat better. I don’t eat that poorly now, but it would be a stretch to say that I eat healthily, and I know things I can be doing better. (Plus, Kim knows ever more things I can be doing better) So objective A: eat like I want to live to be seventy.
Second, I gotta get into some sort of exercise routine. I mean come on. I haven’t exercised regularly in years. It’s a miracle I’m as healthy as I am. And I can get away with not working out and not eating well for now, but if I’m looking down the road… easier to change now than later, right? And exercise is hard for me because my day is so stinking full all ready, and I want to spend what time I can with my family. But it’s gotta be there, so I have to find a way to make it work.
Third, I need to get this sleep thing under control. A huge part of my problem is that I can only write at night. I don’t know if there’s a way around that or not, but that’s not all of the problem. I’ll go to bed after writing and still not fall asleep for another two hours. Got to figure out what the problem is, and got to take care of it. (Hopefully, addressing issues one and two will help me out on issue three)
Finally, I have to sharpen my brain. I’m getting better with this one; I’ve been reading more lately and writing more lately, and those things are good. I need to find things to study *coughSCRIPTUREcough* and focus/discipline my brain toward a path that’ll lead it to more focused intellectual behavior when I get to the point where I should just be getting loopy and confusing the sock drawer for the microwave.
So there we have it. I don’t plan to institute a series of life-changing routines right now. Little by little, one step at a time. We’ll start with fewer French fries and candy bars and see where that takes us ;-)
May, 2052, I’m coming for you!!!
