Life, Or Something Quite Like It

My thoughts are as follows.

I have received a good bit of disturbing news about my health in a very short time.

In bullet form:

I "turned" sixty.
Pinched nerve in the neck.
High blood pressure.
High blood sugar.
Blip in kidney function.
Degenerative arthritis in the neck and spine.
Bi-focals.

I have made adjustments.

The timing is fascinating to me. Sixty has kind of become the line in the sand. In my diseased mind, if I don't get my shit together NOW I will never get it together. The birthday alone was enough to inspire me with fear and determination.

Throw in everything else and there appears to be a crystal clear message there.

I am not claiming some sort of divine warning system or ethereal kick in the ass. Could be all this is merely the culmination of a life not lived in harmony with the requirements for longevity.

Apparently I am not Hunter S. Thompson or Charles Bukowski.

But given my opinion - expressed within these pages ad nauseum - that my life has never been "my own", and given the fear and determination inspired by the number 60 - it is interesting that all these things have come together to add weight to my perspective.

And to force me to make a choice.

The operative word is choice. I can keep doing what I have been doing and gamble that all this bad stuff is merely medical hysteria. Or I can assume that these things are dangerous and that now is the time for change.

Obviously I have opted for change.

It feels like someone, something, circumstances - whatever - have come together to say "Listen, Buddy - it is obvious that you want to shake up your life and get yourself to a place of dignity, accomplishment and pride. Just so you know, here is where your health is at, with all that implies. Do what you think is right."

It's the old -  Why me? Why now?

I am actually glad all this stuff has clubbed me about the head, except the goddamn pinched nerve, which continues to torture. Although even that, I can look at as a lesson. It came on quickly when it decided to go from annoyance to pain. It has made me feel vulnerable and given me a renewed appreciation for health.

I cannot wait for the first day I climb into The Big Ride and enjoy a trip that is not punctuated with sharp pain. I cannot wait for the first full night's sleep. I cannot wait for the first morning that I am not waiting for the pain to first appear.

So something is going on here. Some sort of vote of confidence combined with a warning shot.

If I did not submit to annual physicals I might never have known about the warning signs and I might have been in my grave before I could ever have a chance to salvage what is left of my life.

The bad boy in my brain still scoffs at the restrictions even as I endure them. I used to buy one 1.75 L bottle of Crown Royal a week. I got a bottle as a gift on my birthday - January 1. I have still not purchased a bottle in 2014.

Yet the voice is back there. "Come on, drink a little whiskey. Be a little bad."

However I have been an angel. And I am exercising, I am eating much better.

It feels, in a strangely dangerous and challenging way, as if everything has come together to allow me to be me.

I am glad for the wake up call, especially considering the wake up call could have been a heart attack or a stroke or cancer or the big sleep.

Life is one mysterious game.