My dear friend Deb had a fine idea this week...to get people to share their first posts, a look back at where we had come from. The timing of this for me is quite...well...timely, as I am dangerously close to putting up my 200th post. So maybe this will do for a celebration, and we'll just get plugging along towards good ol' 300.
If you would like to play and give Deb some serious reading to do this coming weekend, go post your link on her Mr Linky, and repost your first post. As I read my own, I notice that my writing and topic selection is going downhill...quickly. Pretty soon HalftimeLessons.com will be nothing but 24/7 fart jokes. Hope you enjoy. PPffffft.
Originally posted August 23, 2008.
During a recent bout with morbid curiosity, I spent some time with a Life Expectancy Calculator, trading facts about my physical and mental past for...a number. A number which absolutely plays into the category of, “If you don’t want to know, seriously, don’t ask.”
So lets have a look at my scoresheet of suspect decision making to-date:
I smoked for roughly 17 years until the pretty girl I was courting said she would never marry a smoker.
I’ve had a weight swing of roughly 40 lbs in the past 20 years, and the swing rarely comes down…that damn gravity…
I spend the better part of my career in traffic, and when you couple that choice with a fairly significant and nagging case of ADD, my odds of a fiery demise are pretty well astronomical as compared to the norm.
And, I love you Mom, but you’re British. Your DNA isn’t gonna do me any favors, nor is Dad’s. Unless…do you want to share any deep dark secret about abducting me from a Russian couple on a yogurt farm outside Vladivostok?
As in, holy shyte ........... 72.
Let’s set aside the really emotional stuff for now, like the chance of missing a father-daughter dance, a grand-birth, or leaving my wife so early that she feels she HAS to replace me, and deal with the purely selfish. Time is no longer endless, like it was when I was a kid... you couldn’t move the clock no matter how hard you tried… couldn’t make Santa come but once a year, couldn't stretch summer to feel like it lasted more than a couple of days. Now, especially with kids, time moves exponentially, horrifyingly so.
72 means I’m well past halftime, and I only just realized. And clearly I haven’t been paying attention, and therefore haven’t been planning. Haven't been learning my lessons, haven’t been applying them to avoid the ones to come. If there were ever a time to start to do it “right”, it’s now.
So, at the tender age of 40, I'll call this lesson number one. Get with it, already.
Writer’s Workshop: My Cat Died
2 days ago