Life Is A Joke

This is not said with sarcasm. Life truly is laugh-out-loud funny if you see not only the present but the future. The humor is obvious when you get out of your own shoes. It’s so easy, so human, so self-defeating to see life only through our own eyes, and not the “Lens of Reality.”*

The Reality is, over–, sorry, I keep using the 800 billion number, but no one will ever know. Know what? How many humans have died since the “Dawn of Time for Mankind.”**

So many of us have died since that time and yet when we are born, we still assume life will never end. Then it does. Isn’t that hilarious? You can judge your happiness by how long you were able to feel invincible, how long you knew in your bones you had free will and self-determination…if you just ate right, exercised right, studied history…maybe…

But those activities only give us a few good years before the pre-determined “Darkness of Death” descends.***

As a funny aside, as we wait for death we build bridges, languages, relationships, legacies, and a hot rod or two. We make our mark on a world no one will remember in 100 years, unless they google it. We might even think we have life figured out and know how to live and enjoy the time.

The sad thing about death that sucks the humor from our perspective is when we hit that mark, that time when the Darkness is no longer sublimated, no longer repressed, no longer denied. Thank God, He gave us this ability to note and ponder our own “Decline and Death”. Isn’t that funny? How many times have you thought about how animals live and die, like Red, my old dog? In fact, there are stories of old people who walk into the woods with the intention they will never come back out of the woods on their own two feet. It’s a form of senicide never talked about. Like senility. And sentient. And sanity. And sentence, as in Life Sentence.

Ah, who cares. As I ponder my own life and pontificate profuse and plentiful episodes of progress and prowess, the paramount point seems to be about life AFTER death. Assuming we can ponder and perceive our own death, we will understand being dead a lot longer than alive. A joke, right? We get 70, 80, 90, maybe even a hundred years here, and then the rest of eternity…where, again? Darkness? Oblivion? Heaven? The soul of an Aberdeen Angus or Belted Galloway cow in the Scottish Highlands?****

As a young man I knew the meaning of life and reveled in being the only one who knew. Now, life has finally made the old joke totally comprehended: “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him about your plans.” We should try and laugh with Him.

As I posted this essay, it’s shortness became apparent. An omen? The Male Life Expectancy number is right around the corner…

*Yep. Made that up on the spot. Like it?

**Again: made up, but I’m not so proud of this one. The beginnings of humans is so far back and so obscure, maybe there was no dawn, we spurted into existence at dusk. The Dusk of Mankind sounds ominous, though, so let’s agree to the Midday of Mankind.

***Better but only because of alliteration.

****If I am to come back as a cow, I hope it will be in a warmer climate or one where my existence is revered.

Repair and Recovery

The removal of natural bone and replacing it with titanium made a vast improvement in my quality of life. The surgery inspired a reassessment of a past, the re-measure of the present, and realignment of goals for the future. Doesn’t that sound nifty?

Before anyone asks me to write a self-help book, it should be noted the biggest driver of the self-examination has been the “down time” associated with recovery. The operation removing years of pain came with a requirement to sit and not move, not do anything, really, for “several” weeks as the incision heals, bruised tissues return to their original color, and the therapeutic drugs work their magic preventing clots and excessive bleeding.

There’s nothing to do but reflect, and it’s been fun to sit in The Chair and watch and read and think.

But the world didn’t stop and wait for me to get better. The world didn’t know I was recovering. It went on without me, all the while shoving its onward motion in my face with news and stories I couldn’t help but read. Some scientists want to “inject” diamond dust into the atmosphere to reflect sunlight and lower the Earth’s temperature. Trump wants to take The Panama Canal Back and annex Greenland. An 81 year old politician not named Biden stopped legislating and entered a nursing home, or “memory center”, without telling anyone. Soto signed with the Mets for a salary higher than some countries GDP. Musk…well, Musk is busy being Musk, an easily distracted, bored, multi-billionaire who knows how to fix America. BTW, if he gave $3 Billion to each state to do with what they want, it might make a difference.

All in all, the month of December has been an example of how important we think we are, followed by the sharp, direct, reminder of how important we aren’t. Sprinkled in this life lesson is some exceptions. For example, how important is toilet paper? Don’t answer, but I now know the man who invented one of the most important things in EVERYONE’S life was Joseph Gayetty, in 1857. His “invention” was “sold in flat sheets watermarked with his name.” It was also medicated to prevent hemorrhoids. His contribution to life is celebrated every minute of every day all over the world, and I’ll bet no one knows his name. For some really good reading about how the cleaning of our butts has changed through the ages, google it. If you have time…like I do.

So is this essay a lament or what? A celebration? A reveal of anything most of us don’t know already?

It is nothing. It is simply a grown man, sitting in a recliner, with nothing to do but ponder.

James Thurber would be proud. (Google him, too.)