My thoughts have been drifting towards my impending death with more frequency as of late. I’m not depressed, pessimistic, terminally ill, emo, or even slightly glum. I just see the signs, and it occurs to me I won’t be around forever. I don’t know if I’m alone here, but I rarely attribute all the death and dying in the world as the inevitable ending for myself. I’m a physically fit, financially stable, married, mentally healthy (depending on who you ask), confident, young man. Basically, I’m a bad ass.
The perpetual chinks in my armor, however, illuminate my ultimate vulnerability as of late. This year I have had my head split open, sprained my toe and ankle, had the flu, and The Black Spot (still fighting this shit, by the way). Not to much in the grand scheme of things, but enough to remind me my strong body will one day be ash.
What’s the point of this admittedly dark post?
To have this read at my eulogy:
“Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, totally worn out and proclaiming, ‘WOW, WHAT A RIDE!!!”