Nice cars and nervous breakdowns
I don’t think about getting older. But I do spend an insane amount of time thinking about what I wouldn’t be able to do without my (admittedly decreasingly optimal) health.
Rather, I spend an insane amount of time thinking about HOLY SHIT, WHAT IF I NEVER GET TO DO ANY OF THE THINGS I’VE DELAYED.
I was just looking at some artwork in a medical establishment, done by patients, children, spouses and supporters who were/are part of this important journey.
I used to think that if some horrible diagnosis or other misfortune would befall me, I’d beat the odds.
Fuck the odds. I would be the miracle. I’d make them RECALCULATE THE ODDS.
Now … enh.
I see average people doing just fine in this world. Average students who went on to average existences. They seem happier than us ex-overachievers who have the nice cars and nervous breakdowns and questionable health to show for it.
In the face of, let’s say, not the best news, you look at a median survival rate of, let’s say, five years. I imagine many would say, “I’ll make it 25!” And I’m over here like, I can’t commit to a diet for five minutes. Dealing with something you can’t quit for five months … that may not be overcome-able even after five years … sounds pretty goddamned exhausting to me.
In any event, when faced with insurmountable things, I know the moment I stopped being the exception.
I just wonder when I stopped assuming I’d be the exception. And how that could/have changed things.