The Life Balance Sheet

It’s easy for me to get consumed by unimportant information because by nature I’m a data cruncher. For example, I could tell you within a few million dollars how almost every movie performed opening weekend at the box office this year. What’s this useful for? Knowing and potentially regurgitating, I guess.

It’s more useful to know your own life’s balance sheet. I think I’m getting a better handle of that. It’s one reason why nearing age 40 is a lot less stressful than nearing aging 30. “Know thyself.” While living downtown I’d jump over a broken cement wall with the words “Know thyself” spray painted on it. I imagined there was some significance to this.

I think I saw career with more doom and gloom when I turning 30. I’ve experienced enough now to see a career as something that can provide some value, but is relatively trifling when compared to relationships, or the value of understanding life and death. I’ve seen enough people retire over the years, for example, and seen the aftermath (the company shrugs and hires someone younger, for a cheaper salary). The Protestant work ethic wheel keeps turning.

Put more concisely, I’d like to continue focusing on the things that matter, and continue getting to know myself.

First Impressions

I try not to act too instinctively, though I think my instinct is usually pretty accurate. It isn’t foolproof though. No one’s instinct is completely foolproof. Some of my best friends in life, for example, were people I was initially intimidated by. I had to peel layers off the onion before realizing what there actually was.

So I try to question and challenge my initial impressions to exhaustion. Sometimes I overdo it and I find my mind in a permanent state of indecision. Sometimes I’m still wrong. But then, everyone and everything deserves a fair chance. Better to think things through than to completely misjudge.

Sometimes it takes years for first impressions to change. Sometimes, through those years, views fluctuate back and forth. I’ve had conflicting views on education and politics for my entire adult life. One should reserve the right to change them.

I know that the first impression I imprint on others is rarely one of the person I am. It takes awhile for my sense of humor to emerge. So I try to consider that, too, when forming first impressions.

Maybe in my constant questioning I’ll arrive at a higher truth.

Assessing Counterfeits

If someone were to offer you gold, the first thing you’d likely do is ascertain its worth. You don’t want to be ripped off, after all.

It seems easier, as society moves online, to accept a headline as true without passing much judgment. We’d be skeptical of free gold but all too eager to accept a stranger’s advertisement or news headline. We often parrot what we read with little questioning. I’m guilty of having done this. What we accept most readily depends on our preexisting ideology.

I aim to test the validity of anything before accepting it. It’s how I hope to refrain from becoming the product of someone else.

I’ve read a lot lately on the health benefits of mushrooms. There seems to be little scientific evidence one way or the other for most of the health claims, but I’ve been trying mushroom coffee in the morning. The brand I’m trying mixes six types of mushrooms: shiitake, lion’s mane, reishi, cordyceps, king trumpet, and turkey tail.

An old work friend recommended it. In the wake of COVID lockdowns, he said, feelings of isolation and depression began to overtake him. He tried mushroom coffee daily and it changed his life for the better. He slept better and felt both more energized and more hopeful about himself. His motivation skyrocketed. He completed his first triathlon and while nearing age 50, possessed the vitality of a 30-year-old.

Why not try it, I figured. He seems trustworthy, and he gave me a free 30 day supply. I’ll try just about anything… “for science.”

So I tried mushroom coffee for about 30 days. Did it make a difference? Well, my sleep improved to the point that it became top notch, I was writing creativity again for the first time in years, and I felt an overall sense of contentment. It could’ve just been the reduction in caffeine. That’s still a benefit though.

It was difficult to be sure what was real and what was placebo, so I went without mushroom coffee for about two weeks. In those two weeks my sleep quality worsened and I found some of my old anxieties slowly returning.

It’s difficult to know for certain what is and isn’t a factor of the mushrooms, but I’ll keep taking the mushroom coffee… for now, at least, it doesn’t seem to be counterfeit.

New Year, New Me?

2025 is the year of my 40th birthday, which I regard as approximately the halfway point of life. I’ve heard the optimistic types tell me that no, it’s not midlife! One should expect to live much longer than 80. To that I say, one should expect nothing, but a little hope is probably fine. Look at the median age in America: it’s right around 80, though it depends on a lot of factors. And the odds of maladies increase exponentially in the later years. I measure life by healthspan, not lifespan.

I’ve never been into resolutions and haven’t made any for 2025, though there are a few new habits I’d like to set (I consider it prioritizing, not goal setting):

• Creativity over profit. The problem with chasing “enough” money is that “enough” is a bottomless pit that can never be filled. It’s the closest thing to a vampire in the world today. It thirsts for blood, but each victim only temporarily satiates. I’d like to switch my view of money to a means of survival, not a means to meaning (not that I ever saw money as everything, but I do believe I let it dictate too many decisions the past few years).

• Sleep over screens.

• Self-belief over fear.

• Idle deep thought over task-oriented mindlessness.

• Newness over routine.

I’m sure there are other priorities I’d benefit in setting, but these are the first that come to mind.

A snowstorm is due in two days. The gaunt clouds overhead strangle the sun and paint the world in grays.

I went for a morning run that left my throat dry and ears numb. I finished the run feeling better. It’s a reminder that discomfort is refreshing.

Tonight I’ll buy some trailrunners so that I can hopefully run on snow next week.

The last film of 2024 I watched was Nosferatu. Hence the vampire metaphor. Beautiful cinematography, excellent acting, creepy narrative.

So long 2024… 40 is knockin’ on the door.

Square One

Sometimes the best path forward is backward, one of those paradoxes you’d think only exist in a Lewis Carroll story. I’m not just taking a step backward these days. I’m sprinting towards what once was, but hasn’t been, but potentially could be again, if one resists the natural ebb and flow of things and swims toward the maelstrom.

I think of time and how deceiving and malicious it can be if one isn’t careful. Age 10 was both yesterday and three decades ago. A 10-year-old’s idea of sprinting down a sandy hill for the sake of feeling a cool breeze on the cheeks and the adrenaline rush of raw speed was enough to try something that an adult would consider dumb (because it’s unsafe, of course). A tumble and scraped knees were worth it. I think of trying to skateboard and drink coffee at the same time, and failing spectacularly at both.

Contrast that to adulthood, when movement is mostly calculated. We are tethered to a beaten path, a watch, a pace, and a “goal.” Even the trails are a set number of miles, a metric. The daily walk stays on a flat sidewalk, perfectly smooth, manufactured for the sake of comfort, a number of steps that a doctor says must be “hit.” Walking for the sake of “exercise.” Movement is a chore; you’re either sitting robotically or walking robotically. What adult yearns to hang upside down and study the clouds?

I try to find the spontaneous boy who thrived in random chaos. That person, I think, was waiting patiently, not dead but just in hibernation.

I go out on a brisk fall morning and run barefoot in the park. A few random sprints with no set interval or time, just the rush and fast twitch muscles activating. I wander through neighborhoods I hadn’t seen before and study the halloween decor in the lawns.

I drive to work listening to what I used to consider 90’s trash, Limp Bizkit, and think a metal show sounds like a great idea, just losing oneself in music, aggressive and fast music, cathartic music, anti-establishment stuff with machine-gun guitar riffs and banshee vocals.

It seems preferable to another day with a prescribed routine: a day that slashes routine to pieces.

We have a pumpkin painting activity at work, for team building, so I paint Art the Clown, the evil killer clown from the Terrifer films. Everyone else paints happy faces or just writes inside work jokes. Nothing left for wonder or awe.

I doubt I won the contest, but I know I created a nightmare or two.

Hurried Driver

Veering the steel cage around a slower steel cage, breathless, frantic, throat clenches, phone tethered to hand (who texted me?), a white rabbit racing. I have somewhere I must be! Panic overwhelms the mind, foot on the pedal presses forever downward, yes I must be faster, traffic could destroy me if I don’t act rash. Slurp the latte, fight for a parking space near the building. Ten seconds to spare, the morning is a game of inches! Breaths at last. Rinse and repeat. Freedom via the car. Maybe it needs an upgrade. A raise would permit that. It will have more space, better mileage. Touch screen linked to the cloud, GPS showing the way.

Affirmations

Yesterday I had my first visit with a Physical Therapist for my foot injury. After an examination I was told what I expected to hear, which is that the plantar fascia on my left foot is messed up.

“You can really feel the scar tissue and adhesions there. It’s no surprise you’re in a lot of pain.”

“That’s good news,” I said. “If all the problems are in one place, I know what to work on.”

About two weeks ago, in a bout of pain and frustration, I ditched all of my cushioned shoes and replaced them with more minimalist, wide toe box shoes. This seems counterintuitive for someone in pain just from walking, but I have my reasons, and desperate times call for drastic measures. I believe in acting swiftly and severely.

I had been wearing heavily cushioned shoes with elevated heels as daily wear for awhile, thinking it would keep my feet comfy outside of distance runs. My theory is that this has something to do with the injury. Simply put, a tendon became too weak to sustain what I was doing to it, and worse yet, there wasn’t enough blood flowing to the area to heal it. So, I’m seeking natural foot strength. Time will tell if my theory is correct.

I woke up this morning and spent a few minutes rolling my foot on a heated vibrating roller sphere. Then I massaged it with an arch massager I got from Alleviate. I put on some toe spacers and spent an hour on the elliptical, then did a series of calf raise exercises and stretches. I’m wearing the toe spacers for most of the day, every day, to help promote blood flow to the plantar fascia.

I’m preparing revenge.

Playing over and over in my mind is what someone told me after this injury: “You’re injury prone. You need to be put in a bubble.” Those mocking words anger me beyond anything I’ve ever felt, and I used to be a very pissed off competitor!

For the last few weeks I have been repeating to myself, “They think you’re frail. They think you can’t do what you’re doing. Prove them wrong.” It’s the first thing I think when I wake up and the last thing I think when I go to bed.

It seems like the best way to really prove them wrong is to become the most durable fucking specimen they’ve ever heard of.

I promised the PT I wouldn’t run until walking felt somewhat comfortable. I’m not there yet, but I do believe the plantar is getting there.

I buried the “Manimal,” my old college athlete persona that my teammates called me, about 16 years ago because I didn’t think that persona was healthy beyond NCAA swimming. Leave it to some asshole to resurrect him! This time I think that side of me is here to stay. It isn’t the side of me that forgives or lets weak ass office comments slide!

"I Don't Wanna Die"

The fall season is a bit like life in that it’s both beautiful and painfully ephemeral.

It seems like we are allowed a few weeks to appreciate the vibrant foliage before it desiccates and leaves behind a gaunt assemblage of ghostly spindly bare trees.

I reckon we can feel this way about how our bodies age. There’s a grace period where time affords us some beauty after having weathered the storm of our youths, but eventually the destruction can be merciless, especially if we don’t plan for it.

The cold is starting to creep into the bones and I especially feel it in my right collarbone, which has broken twice. It is a harsh reminder that not all things fully heal.

I find myself thinking of ways to make time slow, which requires discomfort. The sameness of days only makes time accelerate.

I’ll fight my own mortality to the end because frankly, I don’t wanna die.

Fall may be brief, but I’m determined to catch the next one.