Ten Years?
I saw a recent video of Phil Collins the other day, sitting at a drum set, barely tapping with a single stick. It was all he could muster. And it broke my heart.
There are only ten years difference in age between me and Jimmy. Eleven between me and Phil. Just a single, f***ing decade. We lost Jimmy less than two years ago, and Phil ain’t doing well these days. And that makes you think.
Now here’s the thing, I’m not this “music guy” who mourns for the tunes. It was the fact that both of these guys had such energy and passion. Such apparent joy in life. And all of that is in the past now.
I suppose this could turn into a “woe is me” post. Knowing that according to science and the actuaries I only have eleven years and change before I drop as well. And part of me certainly feels like that.
Hell … if you were to look at me closely and my lifestyle, you’d think those numbers were on the long side.
But I also see the possibility of … possibility.
I know that cancer, acts of motor vehicle carnage, and rogue asteroids hitting the planet cannot be accounted for. But there are so many things that I can control. And perhaps in some weird way, Phil and Jimmy might be the motivation I’ve been lacking.
You see, here’s the bottom line. I need a reason to exercise and do the right thing. I enjoy the wrong things too damn much. Looking in the mirror has never been it (obviously). And when I had physical hobbies, being fit was important. But mostly I drive a bus now, punctuated with bouts of watching sunsets. I don’t have a decent reason to do the extended warranty work on my chassis.
Or maybe I do. Time is starting to feel like a damn fine excuse.
The world has so many secrets I have yet to discover. So many joyful moments out there. And I need to be able to find them.
Twice in my life I’ve been stricken with paralysis from an autoimmune disease called Guillain-Barre. A total of almost two years spent relearning how to walk and care for myself. This is my absolute biggest fear: paralysis. Not death, not even dismemberment. But being locked in a dead body, requiring others to do everything for me. I’ve experienced it, and I won’t experience it again.
Somehow knowing that my days are on the lower downslopes of Life Mountain feels the same. Only my current paralysis is self-caused. I tell myself it’s OK because I can still feed and wipe myself, but for some time now I have been locked into a static prison of my own doing.
So with all of this (motivation?) … it’s time to prepare to go out with a bang. A very prolonged and loud bang. Far more than the eleven I’ve been promised.
So, what is my reason? Just to see shit and experience new cuisines?
Sure, that sounds like a decent start. But it’s more than that (I hope). I feel like I need something big. Something that requires me being at my absolute best. I have some ideas, although nothing past the gooey stage yet. But I think having a very specific goal in a certain timeframe that absolutely requires a Healthy Rick to be present?
Yea, that sounds just about perfect.