I can’t talk to my mom about any of my physical ailments because I know it will begin with, “As you get older…”
YES, MOM, I KNOW I’M OLD!
Still, every minute is more information I didn’t previously have. Wishing to be young is like wanting ignorance and cluelessness. Which isn’t to say that age guarantees wisdom (i.e., Mel Gibson, Martin Sheen), or that I haven’t met people barely out of college who have their shit so tightly put together you could build an ecological house with it [Note: I once heard that some African tribes actually made houses out of manure shaped like bricks] [Note On Note: I don’t know where I got that last piece of information…I just remember hearing that “shitting bricks” wasn’t just an expression].
In my years walking the planet, I like to think I have come up with a few equations to understand life.
1) Youth = Shit Happens
2) Age = Shit Still Happens
3) Age + Self Reflection = Shit Still Happens + Less Dumbass
4) Age + Self Reflection + Adjustments = Less Self-Generated Shit Happening
5) Age – Self Reflection = Self-Generated Shit Is The Norm
6) Beer + French Fries + Ice Cream = Love Handles
7) Life – $ = Stress
8) $ ≠ No Stress
9) $ ≠ Security
10) Boyfriend ≠ Feelings of Self Worth
11) $ + Boyfriend + Self-Reflection = Perspective – Complaints
I should probably have some bigger equation, but I wasn’t good at math.
Just for today, I might have some wisdom.