I hit 44 this year. I don’t look at the age itself as anything special, other than it occurred to me the other day that I’ll probably not reach 88. Even going by average life expectancy in the US, 88 is a stretch.
I was adopted, so I have no idea my family history for longevity. I have slightly high blood pressure, currently being treated by the least objectionable poison that the medical community thrusts upon me – drawn down to below average as a result. My cholesterol is on the high side of normal and I am slightly hypoglycemic – which eases fears of diabetes and its horrid issues.
I could be a lot worse off.
In any case, it occurred to me that I’m past the middle of my summer years and looking on toward a fast approaching autumn.
Death itself is not the issue. I’ve never been afraid of the inevitable. I wouldn’t ride a motorcycle year round from age 18, if the fear of death was problematic to my mental well-being. Considering the utterly, profoundly retarded, inept drivers here in Utah, I’m basically fearless of death.
Growing decrepit, is the issue. I don’t care how long I live, as long as during that time I can function.
Quality of life is far more important to me that quantity, to the point that I’d be willing die tomorrow if that would prevent years of being a prisoner in my own body. What frightens me is that some Hippocraticly haughty physician is going to assume for my “well being” that longevity is more important than contentment. In that, I will be confined to a chemical nightmare of half-baked attempts to keep me alive, propped up as a placation to those wearing a Caduceus, who are Hell bent on defying the natural order.
In such agony, let me die, please. I don’t want to live, just to live. That defies everything I’ve lived for to this point.
My life is not exciting, nor original. It isn’t special in any way other than it is personal. However, I still want to live it on my own terms and medically forced longevity does not dwell within that goal.
That in mind, I still ponder just what it is that I want to do with my remaining time. Let’s say I make it to at least 65, that’s just two decades of time left to accomplish what I can. Even if I have another thirty years, that is hardly a long time in all. Years can pass so quickly, that those thirty years can be swallowed in a proverbial eye blink.
I’m still young enough to travel rough roads and have been giving great thought to the places on this globe which I yearn to see. The pyramids in Egypt and the Americas are there, as are the fjords of Scandinavia. The myriad wonders of Alaska have called me for a long time and I’m actively planning another attempt to motorcycle there. I’d love to sail around the globe itself, but cannot see how I could afford to.
What calls me as well are the intellectual pursuits I haven’t spent enough time on yet; books unread, writings I haven’t finished and assorted projects which have not left the drawing board. These things seem to vie for as much attention as the lust for travel.
Ultimately, I need to move as well. I am not a city person and long to live in a log home in some mountainous region – whether that be in this country or another, I haven’t fully decided. I want a property where the trees are as prolific as the grass and my nearest neighbor is a drive down the road, rather than a walk to the mailbox. I don’t mind “roughing it”, either. I consider electricity a luxury, not a staple. I’ve lived in conditions where a wood burning stove is the only source of heat and I don’t mind that one bit.
When it comes down to it, I’d be satisfied with just that much – living out the last of my days in quiet solitude (my wife included in this, of course) with but the flora and fauna to greet me in the morning. However, even to get there, I have some planning to do.
For one thing, I’m not prepared to retire, so I’ll have to find some recourse to make a living. Much of what I do professionally does not require my physical presence, but finding a job which facilitates this is not easy in spite of this. So, unless I radically change my lifestyle, I’ll most likely have to be close enough to a reasonable population center to commute there – at least for a while.
Perhaps the first step is to isolate what I need versus what I want and eliminate the completely needless. A little spring cleaning of one’s life can’t hurt in any case.
I guess some might call this a midlife crisis, but I don’t view it as a crisis at all, rather a fair assessment of possibilities. I’m enjoying just working over the prospects and find myself a little excited over the very notion of change. There is no worry or fear involved. My kids are on their own now, my responsibilites are reduced to myself and my spouse – I would think it a bit silly to assume that we simply want to continue on the same beaten path as before. It’s our time now.
The pondering continues for the moment, but I will soon have to turn such mental muses to actual planning and action. After all, there isn’t that much time left before the leaves turn and the snow falls and the years can pass in an eye blink.


