There. How's that for a deep and meaningful blog topic?
And I'd like to expand on it and include any and all issues to do with embracing our own mortality, or self directed anger never being healthy at making positive changes, or talk about health, or healthy activities.
But that would be me... lying.
Well, not exactly LYING per se, but definitely taking the topic in a direction that is far more meaningful than the sentiment has laid rights to claim.
I mean, yes, certainly, absolutely, I would like to be, in a more holistic way: healthier. In better shape. Capable of running long distances. Tying myself in a pretzel. Leaping small buildings in a single bound. You know. I'd like to see my body do things it probably could and should do. FOR MY HEALTH. But that is as much bullshit as I will willing feed you. it would be like pretending I work out FOR MY HEALTH. quite simply a lie. I work out so I don't turn into a beast. a hut. a whale. when I work out (increasingly rare by the way) I am not thinking "oh boy, that burn means I will be stronger and healthier" I am thinking "oh boy, that burn means I am on my way to a better ass and fitting back into my clothing!"
Also, I'd like to glorify this sentiment by say that it all tracks back to a universal fear of aging and is part of some deep and dark journey to accept aging and inevitability of death. But I'll tell you a secret: I don't really fear death. I mean, I do. Absolutely. I'd like another good 50 years on this planet. Healthy years. hot years. within reason. But that being said, life seems like it lasts, for the average healthy person, about the right amount of time. Time to get things done. see things. meet people. get to know them. get to know ourselves. perhaps a little better than we wish at times. Perpetual youth and immortality, however, strikes me as ...excruciatingly boring. I am even feeling okay about where I am on this life cycle, to be honest. I mean, I don't want to be old, but I am down with how much life I have lived and hopefully how much life I will get to live.
But did I mention I don't want to be old? Actually what I mostly meant is that I don't want to look old. Really. I don't want to look as old as I do and certainly I don't want to look older. I will, ofcourse, but that doesn't change the wanting. I don't want to look 20 ofcourse. I just want to look hot. Again, the simple fact is that I am not as hot as I'd like to be.
Remember kids, everything is relevant, and you might think that lady looks great in that photo, but she doesn't, in her mind, if she wants to look like Audrey Hepburn. A young, hot, Audrey Hepburn.
So this little overly personal blog is about coming to terms with unrealistic expectations and inevitabilities I have no control over.
And yes, before we get into, I realize I have some control. I most certainly could be in better shape. And pay more attention to my appearance. I get it. Believe me, you could never begin to match the voices in my head that remind me of the myriad of ways I fail myself. So let's not go there.
But I am talking about more than that. Because in order to do even that I would have to prioritize this wish. Make this a need. A top need. And I don't. I put comfort and freedom and the unbelievable tastiness of a good pasta dish before it. I put happiness before hotness. But you know, if I was hotter I'd be happier.
Therein lies a certain paradox. A contingent reality in which we begin very carefully weighing out all the things we need, all the things we will never ever luck into and figure out what is worth working for.
Which I suppose is what this blog is about. Because I dream. I dream of all sorts of shit. A genie popping down and giving me wishes (no shit, I really do dream about that). I dream about unending freedom and love and beauty with ease and all that stuff. But those are just dreams. And here is the thing. Those kind of dreams are wishes and wishes are really, in the end, the fanciful descriptor of our needs and desires. And everyone wants everything. Just not in equal amounts. So it's important to pay attention to what you want most. And makes allowances. And let the other shit go. Beat it down, bury it, send it to your cousin in ft. lauderdale. or write a fairy tale about it. Wait, sorry, that's another blog.
In the end, the story is still the same: give yourself what you need, get yourself what you can, and let the rest go.
Ofcourse, this might require alot more mature self reflection than I am capable of.