41 and not half done / 41 a number prime

41

Yesterday, I celebrated my 41st Birthday. A heartfelt thank you to all the family, friends, strangers, and even enemies that wished me a happy birthday. There was an enormous response, and I felt the love. It is nice to hear from so many people. Especially, people so directly responsible for engaging me throughout my life and contributing to many dearly held memories.

As I mentioned in previous blogging years (this is my third blogging year) that I don’t feel particularly different, or older with each passing year. My sensibility still feels similar to, say, March 15, 2014, and even March 15, 1995. So where does the feeling or change of age come in?  I’m in no rush to find out in truth, albeit I have oh so many acquaintances and companions on this journey, that fall all over themselves to suggest that persons of my age, our age, are “getting old”.

Poppycock! Fiddlesticks! Blasphemers!

Denial? I don’t think so. Groupthink and small talk are fast friends, and I can hardly hold folks accountable for wanting to get out of most conversations as quickly as possibly. But, yes there is a but here: BUT, I don’t agree.

Time is relative, is it not? Granted we generally support a notion of linear time. But how I perceive time, is it not different than how you perceive time? There are a great many variables involved here, but I can’t bring myself to nod in assent every time someone throws Thor’s Hammer of resignation to chip away at my response to how I perceive time.

I get it. I, you, we are experiencing this adventure, perhaps similarly in many ways. However, I refuse to go gentle into that good night. Just like Dylan Thomas proposed, I’m raging against the dying of the light. Yes! I invoke the spirit of enthusiasm when staring down “Eventually”

Why the fa-nerk-ing hurry? I’ve just arrived here in this moment. Why shit all over it and concede that things will never be the same? It ain’t like it used to be.

Change from that moment to this moment to the next moment, that is where life lives. I love this moment. Right now.  It feels pretty good, in fact. I feel rather fortunate. My health is great, my family is great, and with an eye on being realistic within the frame of my own life, things are very damn near perfect.

If you want to converse freely on the passage of time and how it applies to your subjectivity, then that is one thing, but don’t pull me down into your pit of despair and suggest that we, you, I are getting old.

Simply: I live to live, and I don’t take measurements of time. Such measurements in an unhealthy mind only imperil our sense of mortality to the point that we live to despair what has gone and what is left, rather than what moment is living within us. Most importantly how we live within the moment we are living in right now.

This is my prime. 41, is a prime number, no shit. And next year, cleverness aside, 42 will be my prime, and here on until I no longer breathe the enthusiasm into my present moments that I now possess.

I simply suggest that our impermanence informs the importance with which we engage the string of moments that we live within from womb to tomb, and challenges us to herald all those moments as prime.

You think WE’RE getting old? Well, that is how you see it, isn’t it? I told a friend that I have not begun in years. I constantly reinvent who I am, how I see the world, and I am grateful for every damn moment. I simply think it’s okay for us to view it differently.  I only hope that folks don’t put too much weight on the journey diminishing as we progress, because that, in essence, is what causes it to diminish in the first place.

Remain young in heart, in spirit, in practice, in action. The only real progress in life is remaining happy within the only thing we truly can possess: the present.

Carpe Diem!

I love being in my prime. Linear time can suck a loaf out of my bread basket. I intend to prime it up for quite a while. 41, 42, 43…

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