This piece is probably one that will hit home to those who, like me, are in the later years of life. The reason is that the topic demands a bit of age and the wisdom that comes from it. However, the younger generations might take these words as ones of advice. Of course, time will tell about that, and I most likely will be gone by then.
The best way to explain things is that I don’t care. Sometime this past year, it hit me. I had lost the zeal for life; I was inconsolable and baffled. Perhaps the feeling came in the fall as the summer days which I love so much gave way to cooler weather, withering plants, and brown grass. I’ve always dreaded cold weather and have never looked forward to its arrival.
Maybe I stopped caring because my aging body is beginning to give me more problems. I fell ill in November with pneumonia, an illness I’ve always associated with old folks. In addition, medications I’ve taken have caused dry mouth, and that has led to a loss of enamel on my teeth, Additionally, a crown snapped off, and I had to have the rest of the tooth cut out, the hole plugged with cadaver bone, and an implant placed in the space. To top everything off, I am scheduled for cataract surgery this month.
Whatever the cause, I began to not care. I felt as if I were closing in on dying and didn’t have much time to do anything. Yes, absurd ideas and pure silliness are a couple of my worse traits. My attention span shortened to one less than today’s teens have. Motivation was replaced by stagnation.
Not to many days ago, my rational mind returned. I began to think about the “I don’t care” feelings I’d been having. Of course, they were ill conceived. I have plenty to care about. Amy, Lacey and Nick, and Madden matter greatly. My brother Jim and his family are dear to me. Friends give me a reason to care.
I have plenty to continue doing. Working with wood is a fun hobby. Yes, I cut off my finger, but I still enjoy trying to construct things from scratch. I play golf poorly, but the game gives me exercise and time with friends. Amy and I are vowing to travel more, and that’s something she enjoys and deserves. I plan to do go with her.
The other thing I care about is this column. I’ve written for it for years, and I still love doing it and sparking responses, good or bad, from those who read each week. I appreciate the folks who have written me. I certainly care about producing works that will keep folks reading.
We all have bad days or weeks. That’s the way life flows. With a little luck, we work ourselves through them and regain our balance. I have, and you who are now reading this “confession” are partially responsible for my recovery. I’m ready to take on the years that I have left and live each day fully. As Edgar Lee Masters wrote in Spoon River Anthology, “It takes life to love life.”
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