It's Time

April 25, 2015
Day 360

My time as a 30-something, like my time writing this blog, is quickly running out, or away, or ending, or I'm ending it, or something.  I've always been fascinated by time, especially at how much control we let it have over our lives, so I'd like to just think on it a bit here today.

Time is this gigantic construct we as human beings have formed into our lives to the point that we rely on it to keep us on track every second of every day, but it's also the greatest mystery still beyond our comprehension.  Take any so-called believer in God and any so-called non-believer back to the Big Bang, and you'll quickly find yourself with two people scratching their heads.  One might point to the time before time as this mysterious solitude when God was just waiting to create, and the other might point to it as this mysterious solitude when creation was about to create itself.  For many of us, neither of these explanations works, and we reach that point every adult reaches when we say, "You guys really don't know what you're talking about, do you?"

I've always loved the quote by Edwin Conklin, who said, "The probability of life originating from accident is comparable to the probability of the Unabridged Dictionary resulting from an explosion in a printing factory."  I know there's more to science than this, and life has proven over and over again just how capable it is of forming itself into new creatures with new abilities, but you've got to also appreciate the appreciation by Mr. Conklin too.  Whether you believe in God or not, we've certainly all come a long, long way over time.

This leads me to my main question, the question I've thought about most of my adult life: if time is a construct of a larger space time reality, in which space and time are interwoven and always have been, then why can't we see previously occurring events more clearly?  If we can see and measure space, even dark matter now, why can't we somehow see real events that have already happened?  I've had enough powerful dreams over the course of my first 40 years on this planet to recognize how flexible time is, how memory works too, yet when I'm fully conscious and aware, not asleep or in some overly reflective state, why can't I then too see the past in front of me?  Why is it so hidden?  And indeed, can the future reveal itself in the same way?  If there are more and more people out there (who we've only discovered in the age of the internet) with powers to predict or warn of future events, why can't we all somehow see time the way we see all the constructs of space...all this stuff around us?

Deep thoughts, sure, but they're deeper than I want them to be!  I want the depths to be such that I can plunge myself into them from time to time, and pull out gold nuggets of truth from the caves of my brain or even the recesses of my soul.

I'm turning 40 years old next Friday, May 1st, 2015, yet I truly don't feel that I have lived forty years yet (or even five-and-a-half days short of it).  If tasked to determine my age based on how I've felt the passing of time, I'd guess at a number closer to 30 years, maybe 32.  This number has nothing to do with how I feel in mental or physical age either, or how old I think I look.  It's only how old I feel as far as the length of time I've been a human being on Planet Earth.

I know life is easier, and indeed more fun too when we just think on all the silly things, or the funny or strange events that have happened to us, as I've done so much over this past year, but I couldn't let the end of this year of my life pass by without pausing, just for today, to honor the mystery.  I am a believer in God, but I'm also wise enough to respect and honor the science that seeks to answer so many of the same questions I have. 

Time is passing by, and it's walking next to us, and it's even walking behind us too.  I don't know what time is, but I know it's much bigger than all its little parts.  Time is not just seconds and minutes whipping around in a circle.  It's the face of the clock itself.  It's the face that sees with its own kind of eyes and peers out with its own knowing none of us with any kind of mind--scientific or spiritual--can quite figure out.  Still, we'll keep trying, wrestling with the concept, for all the time we have.

Am I Finished With 40 Yet?

February 12, 2015
Day 288

For the past nine and a half months, I've posted these blog entries every single day, and every single day, my readers online have seen the phrase "Finishing Forty".  It makes people mistakenly think I'm already a 40-year-old, and will soon be turning 41...but no, I'm still just a kid, a child really.  I'm only 39 years old, and have many more (2.5) months left in my 30s.

Finishing Forty is all about completing my 40th year of life on Earth as I turn from 39 to 40.  What would your friends say to you if you said, "My car is 40 years old," or "My computer is 40 years old," or even "My dog is 40 years old"?  They'd likely give you a long stare of concern.

So when you turn 40 years old, you're telling the world you're walking around in a 40-year-old model.  You're admitting that for the past four decades, you've been piling up the mileage on this baby right here, and you're grateful to have gotten this far without too many dents or scratches.  You present yourself to the world with a nice haircut and a new wardrobe perhaps, knowing that just underneath your clothes or skin, things aren't so new anymore.  You're halfway done with the four score you hope to achieve, and middle age is not just upon you, but all around you too: the reluctant glance in the rear-view mirror will tell you how much of this middle-agedness you've already experienced.  And then, very quietly, you'll begin to cry.

You'll bemoan the past now lost to you, all the possibilities of youth you've squandered or just never found or achieved, and you'll mourn that which has been.  As you make the last steps up to your 40th birthday, you'll sigh, wipe away the tears, and then smile, realizing that as you reach the top of the pinnacle, this life you've proudly built is all around you, and there are many more mountains and valleys still waiting to be conquered!

Potholes In My Brain

January 14, 2015

Day 259

I've got potholes in my brain,

though I seem to still be sane. 

But these holes inside my brain? 

They really are a pain!

I'll sit here just a'thinking,

hardly even blinking

(nor even am I drinking!),

when I feel myself a'sinking.

My memory's all fuzzy--

"No wait but now who was he?"

And though I don't feel scuzzy,

I've got potholes in my brain!

Is any of this normal? 

Perhaps a bit coronal 

(though nothing really formal)?

Or maybe it's hormonal?

It could just be my gain,

though probably in vain;

the truth will still remain:

I've got potholes in my brain.

This is the year

December 3, 2014
Day 217

I guess I always knew this would happen, but it's surprising me anyway.  40 seems like a normal age to finally start showing the usual signs of aging, but for me, it's definitely been 39...my 40th year.

Part of me wonders if it's because I chose to document my 40th year of life in this daily journal, because I truly am taking a long look at things every single day of this year.  But I think just as likely is the chance that my body's finally ready to begin crumbling.  Muscles, bones, organs, tissue--all of it has begun deteriorating at a frightening pace, and I fear there's no escape now from my imminent, ultimate, irreversible demise.

Too much?

Okay, fine.  All I know is, this year is when it all started.  This is the year: 39.  Mark your calendars now, younger friends!  Your 40th year of life on Earth, the year you're "happily" still 39?  Yeah, well, Father Time, that son of a bitch, is gonna come for you a little earlier than you'd originally guessed!

You'll be looking at yourself in the mirror one day and then bam!  White hairs are waving at you from the hairline above your ear, and more start sprouting up in your facial hair too.  Just as you're forming the words What The Fu--, your heartburn will start up, followed right afterward by pain in your knees, back, and feet.  You'll stumble to the couch just in time for your vision and hearing to get a little worse all of a sudden.  And then, as you put on your glasses to watch TV, you'll realize how stupid the shows and music of "this generation" is becoming.  A kid will run past your house calling to a friend and you'll shout, "Shut the hell up!" and you'll shake your newspaper at him, or your fist, whichever is closest (don't hurt yourself now).  Finally, you'll sit back down to watch your TV and wonder why the dang thing freezes up as much as it does (you'll start saying dang more too).

All of this begins, my dear, dear friends, at age 39.  Yep.

Resistance is futile, too, so just put on your favorite cardigan, pour yourself a nice delicious glass of prune juice, and line up your regimen of pills.  Oh, and don't forget to stop by at Old Joe's Barbershop later.  Really need to get those ear hairs trimmed a bit, dang nabbit!

The Aging Prayer

August 1, 2014
             Day 93

Dear God, above all else, I thank you. 

I thank you for all the many parts of my body and my brain that are still working great.  I thank you for every bone in my body that is not broken right now, and I thank you for every part of my body that's in good health at the moment.

And for the parts of me that aren't doing as well as I'd like, I pray for patience and peace.  I know I cannot make myself healthy in an instant, try as I may!, but I can choose to focus my attention as best I can on all my health and happiness.  I choose to do all I can to think on my health and not my unhealth.  I pray my patience holds out, that the peace of mind and body I continually strive to achieve will be mine often and always.

I want to thank you, God, for all the nurses, doctors, and other healthcare professionals I've known in my life so far, and all of those who may come into my life in the future.  I pray you watch over and care for them as they have cared for me and so many others.  I pray they think of all the right things when they treat me, and I pray they recognize all the right signs anytime anything's uncertain.

Dear God, I do an awful lot of complaining.  You know this about me, don't you?  I complain about all my aches and pains, and all my ouches and eeks.  But I pray I might remember more often that things could be worse, and things could even be worse than that.  And even once the day arrives when my worser-than-thats are more frequent than my healthier stats, I pray I might still remember all of the health and good feelings I've had in this incredible life.

Yes God, it's true.  You haven't heard the last of me or my complaints.  I've still got many more to both holler and whisper your way again soon!  Even so, I pray I remember all my healthy parts and all my healthy days.  And above all else, God, I thank you.  And I thank you.  And I thank you.

Knee I Say More?

July 10, 2014
          Day 71

I don't know if it's necessarily a 39-year-old's problem exactly, but it does seem to be an aging problem.  At some point in life, your knees start resenting you.

They hate you.  They mock you.  They assure you they will have the last word on how quickly you climb those stairs, thank you very much. 

It's not that you're old now at 39 or 40, it's just that your knees are effectively four decades old, and they're gonna start getting cranky more often.  And this week, my left knee was acting like a real bitch.

I had gone for a workout at the gym, my usual two 20-minute sets on the elliptical, but on Monday I followed this up with an hour of tennis once I got home.  And it's not like any of this was that far removed from my fitness regime either, as my workouts, tennis matches, stair climbs, situps, and weightlifting are all working my body quite often these days.  But for whatever reason, on this day, my left knee decided he'd just had enough.

"Oh, hell no!" he seemed to scream that evening as I went to put my legs up to relax.  The pain was awful, but I allowed myself to just stay off my feet and relax a bit.  The pain, I knew, would go away after a little while.  But then the funniest thing happened.  The pain didn't go away.  In fact, it got worse. 

So I took two aspirin before bed, and hoped for a good night's rest.  I was woken up randomly around half past midnight as Andy came to bed, but I could tell my knee was already feeling 85% better.  There was still some pain and stiffness, but for the most part, I was healed.  Alleluia!

On Tuesday though, the pain was back.  It got steadily worse throughout the day (nothing major), and I even found myself using the elevator instead of the stairs by day's end.  More aspirin was needed that evening.  I took it, I slept, and I went through Wednesday finally feeling better.  Whew!

I suppose I should just accept the fact that the pains of aging begin sooner than I'd once guessed.  50s or 60s?  Yeah, that I could understand.  39 though?  No.  This is not what I signed up for when I blew out the candles this May. 

My knee is all better today, but we're still not speaking to each other.  He'll get over it.  Just do me a small favor, though?  Don't tell him I'm playing tennis again this Saturday!

Beginning to crumble

July 7, 2014
        Day 68

I may have said this already, but it bears repeating: at 39, my age is beginning to catch up to me. 

My best guess is, if I've been getting away with looking and feeling 5 to 8 years younger for the last decade or so, the gap is about to close.  Within the next three months, I may only appear 4 years younger.  By January of next year, I'll only look two years younger.  By March, just one year younger.  And on May 1st of 2015, my 40th birthday, I will look approximately seventy-five years old. 

These are just my best guesses for now, and it's not like I'm expecting to be right, but I gotta tell you, waking up at 38 years old a year or so ago?  I felt fine!  Life was good, and things all still felt the same.  But this year, 2014?  There are tiny little issues that are just beginning to show up. 

I'm not complaining!  (Seriously, I'm not!)  I'm just taking note of the tiny differences I've noticed in the past few months.  My eyesight requires I sit just an inch closer to the computer screen.  My legs require a two-second slower leap to my feet when I arise from my chair after a long while.  My heartburn, my ear hairs, my hairline, my muscles, my sleep cycle: pick one, and I can give you an essay on what's slightly changed in the past year. 

So here's my warning to the younger people who will read this: it all begins at 39.  Life is still great, and I have no right to complain, but be forewarned, this seems to be the year when the subtle changes begin to creep up.  Don't be frightened, and don't even pre-worry your non-gray hairs about it yet, younger people.  Just remember my promise to you here and now.  The 39 to 40 leg of your journey is about transition as much as it is about perspective!

To those older than me, and to my older self looking back, yes, I probably sound insane.  Nuts even.  But I wanted to document the journey as best I could, to remember later on that these tiny little issues began to show up in a few tiny little ways in my 40th year of life on Earth.  I'm not complaining!  I'm just...  just... just documenting!

My radio station would be W.H.A.T.

May 25, 2014.

Last night, I found myself in one of those time portals only guys like me in their first of many mid-life crises goes through.  We were listening to older music (like from way back in the 80s), and I began fearing judgment from my younger guests.  "Quick," I whispered, "Put something new on!"  We quickly moved onto some Miley and Macklemore, so I breathed a little easier.

It's just one of those rites of passage all humans seem to go through, so I don't hate it too much, but at some point, you crave "your" music more than "their" music, the music of today.  And yet, that isn't my real problem.  I like all kinds of music...even though I'm admittedly trapped in the 80s for the rest of my life.

My real problem, though, is that I don't even know who's singing half the time, and can't sing along!  I will immediately start moving with the music when it's a familiar tune, and I have many, many favorite songs like this, but I can't recite the lyrics like everyone else.  I can't even tell you if it's Pink, Blondie, or K, E, dollar sign ha.  "What year did this song come out?"  "I don't know, sometime between 1980 and today.  Hope that helps?"

In school, especially high school, I felt like such an idiot for not knowing the kinds of facts all my friends seemed to pull from a part of their brain I didn't seem to have.  If someone asked what year a song was released, I'd stare at them perplexed, like I was working on it, thinking, remembering, and then when they guessed some random year, I'd start agreeing quickly, "Yeah, I think that's right."  Of course there was no chance I could remember the lyric, the singer, or the year, because that information never, ever went into my brain in the first place!

So most of my adult life, including last night, I've just been resigned to admit I am a complete idiot when it comes to these things.  I hope, when my true moron nature is revealed in moments like that, my friends will remember I do have some talents in other fields.  I pray they see me not just for the gigantic mass of brainless human I am, but instead remember that somewhere inside my head, other brain cells have just focused on other things.

I do love 80s music, and I'm not afraid or ashamed to admit it, especially so-called Alternative 80s music like The Smiths and The Cure.  So judge me all you like, and call me an irrelevant old guy, but I'll stay happily trapped in the euphoria of a bygone age probably forever.  It's just where I feel most at peace, and most at home.

Sing to me, Morrissey.  Wish me an unhappy birthday, because I'm evil and I lie.  Yeah, man.  Nice.

Things which matter least

May 24, 2014.

There's a quote I came across at some point in the past two years, which I keep now above my desk at work:

"Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least." --Goethe

It's just become one of those life mantras I absolutely adore, and it reminds me how unbelievably silly we all can be.  We throw away friendships and relationships for the stupidest possible things, misconceptions and mistaken understandings more often than any other.  We quit jobs, we leave programs, and we otherwise make reckless decisions based on one bad day, experience, or interaction.

So much of life's good gets thrown away with the bad.  The baby is thrown out with the bath water, and the nose is cut off to spite the face. 

The older I get, the sillier I realize we all are.  And it's in the midst of this silliness-recognition process that you really begin to see the absolute beauty of life, instead of the other way around.  You break two eggs into the pan to cook up some breakfast, before you realize a little piece of shell fell in.  The egg is bubbling away, and it's too difficult to get just that little piece of shell out on its own.  So you dig out a piece of the egg too, just to be sure you got the shell out.  The breakfast isn't ruined, and the majority of the eggs will still be fine. 

When we let the things which matter least mess up the things which matter most, we've totally relinquished common sense.  We've allowed our melting heartstrings to bubble up in the pan, instead of just taking a wide-angled view of the situation, and fixing the small issue calmly. 

The photo I'm attaching here is a shot Andy took of me on Ka'anapali Beach in Maui in May, 2012.  At the moment this photo was taken, I was looking around for a safe place to move into the water, as there was a lot of underwater coral in the area.  We were leaving Hawaii the next day to head back to New York after 10 full days there, and though most of my amateur snorkeling time I was in a more secluded area, on this day we were in a crowded (for Maui) stretch of beach.  We came over to this area because I was hoping I'd see my first sea turtle, but the search wasn't looking good. 

When I look at this photo now though, I see two things.  I see all the frustration, disappointment, and anxiety I was feeling, but I also see the people further out, and I remember they were the ones I swam with minutes later.  They were the ones who called out, "Turtle!"  They were the ones who followed a giant sea turtle (several feet long) as it swam into shore right out in front of me.  And they were the ones who, after we all saw the turtle under the water, shared a moment of purest bliss with me.  We were strangers, but as our heads came up from under the water, our faces all mirrored the same amazing emotion, huge smiles from ear to ear as we looked at each other completely speechless, in awe of nature, in love with life.

It's all about perspective, and taking a moment to look back from any given situation from a better view.  And how about that view! 

There are so many ridiculously silly things that happen throughout our lives, and so many miniscule events and interactions that shape way too many of our life experiences.  Eggshells have no right spoiling our breakfasts, and things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least.  Life's too fucking short!

Happy Birthday, Andy!

May 22, 2014.

Andy and I have been together over 12 years now, and I've become a happier and happier person because of him.

Today's his birthday, so I want to spend today's reflection telling you a little bit about him.  Maybe you already know some of this, or maybe it'll all come as a surprise.  Either way, I hope you enjoy reading about this incredible man I'm blessed to have in my life.  [The picture I'm attaching here is from our 2012 trip to Maui.  You should be able to click on the photo for a larger size too.  And then click the X in the top right to go back here if you do.]

Born in Trinidad, Andy is the son of a Trini dad with European roots, and a Chinese mom, who actually left Communist China with her mother when she was just a little girl.  When Andy was only eight years old, his parents took his brother and him out of school, and they all moved up to Long Island, New York, where he's been living ever since.  His tastes in food and really in life reflect his background and parents.  Perhaps it's yet another reason we get along so well too.  As a monk, I learned to see the world as an outsider would, and as an immigrant from Trinidad (just like my dad was from Ireland too), Andy learned right away how different America was from his roots back home in the islands.

He doesn't like being in the spotlight, but that's one of the most lovable things about him (among many, many more of course).  He's just a sweet, gentle, loving soul, who gives so much more of himself than he gets in return.  Andy loves watching the news, the latest reality police or criminal-chasing show, and especially Anthony Bourdain.  If you walked into our living room on any given evening, you'd probably find Andy laying back on the couch with his legs crossed, one flip flop hanging off his foot, as his mouth is curved into a smile at whatever cool or silly thing he just saw on TV.  He'd tell you about what just happened on the show if you walked in late, and encourage you to see what's going on for yourself. 

The thing most people don't know about Andy is that he's a silent sponge, hearing everything you say even if he doesn't comment in the moment, but who will happily toss back a memory or phrase a week or even a month later when you least expect it.  He's actually really, really hysterical when he does this, especially because it often comes from left field.  One moment he seems very serious, and the next you're just howling with laughter at the verbal jab he's just thrown back at you. 

Of course he's made fun of my love of Broadway a hundred different ways, but never with animosity, always just in a playful way.  He might suggest without a smile that I could go to yet another Broadway show, or, if I'd like, I could pay the bills instead.  The smile comes a beat later, and lets me know that as serious as he was being about the need to pay the bills and save money, he still doesn't hate me for enjoying Broadway so much.

And that's his style in all things really.  He's this source of love, the sunshine in my life, who's happy to keep pouring out his love, even when I'm not appreciating him or the needs of our household as much as I should be. 

He's a happy, loving man who wishes the world and her people were nicer, and he gets genuinely angry when people are bigoted, racist, homophobic, or otherwise just hateful to other human beings.  He aches to be a high schooler again now, only because he sees how much better the world has gotten since we were in school.  And through it all, he's just a passionate, wonderful, sweet, gentle-natured soul who everyone enjoys talking with.

And so today, May 22nd, is his birthday. 

When I ask him what he'd like, he most often replies, "You don't have to get me anything."  And he means it!  He'll love your gift, whatever it is, and he'll thank you and appreciate it, but he's genuinely fine without the attention and love shown to him. (Yet another reason why he should get oodles of love and attention today!)

Andy is a sweet, beautiful guy, and my love for him has no bounds.  He is the sunshine in my life, the joy in my smile, and just the greatest love I've ever known.  Happy Birthday, Andy!  May your joy of life only double in the year ahead, and may everything wonderful always come your way!!!

The Changing MUSTs of Life

May 3, 2014.

There are a few things about age 39 I'd like to advise my younger self of, not so much as a warning, but more as just a head's up for the journey.  First of all, that old joke about hair growing out of your ears is all too real.  In fact, the hair grows out of your forehead more too, and in weird places on your arms, and, well, you get the picture.  To me it's all just funny, especially when some little wisp of a hair is there one day when I promise you it wasn't there the day before!  It's really no big deal, although I'd argue heartburn definitely is.

The first time I ever really experienced heartburn was somewhere in my mid-30s.  I'm guessing it varies for people, and some experience it much earlier, but for me, it had just never really happened, so it scared the hell out of me when it did.  Thankfully, all you kids out there, there's this miracle product called TUMS.  You chew two or three tablets and bam!  The heartburn goes away.  Some people keep the TUMS nearby, because they know they'll have heartburn, so rather than avoid the bad foods, they just pop the TUMS in before or right after their meal.  Makes sense. 

Beyond heartburn and weird hairs showing up is the all too inevitable non-red hair.  Eek!  Yes, I must address this to be completely honest, so here we go...

I'm a redhead, and as a redhead, my hair is red.  Still with me here?  Okay, good. 

So as a redhead, the hair on my body should be red.  It will eventually turn white, I've been told, as redheads tend to have white hair as they age, which is fine with me!  It's all still red, thank God, but I suspect things may change in the next decade.  Getting older is a gift better than the alternative, and if my hair will change a color other than the red I've come to love, white sounds better to me than gray.  I still have a great head of hair, much more than a lot of guys younger than me, and my hairline, though slightly receded, really does betray my age, and has helped me "pass" for much younger.  You can disagree of course, but I'm writing this, so I get to make the pronouncements at the moment.

The MUSTs of my life have changed considerably as I've gotten older.  I no longer MUST see Saturday Night Live.  I no longer MUST see a movie when it first comes out, and very often not even while it's still in the theater!  I no longer MUST have plans on the weekend.  (In fact, I quietly celebrate those weekends that are completely free of plans!)  I no longer MUST see friends as often as I used to, and this is in great part to the fact that I already live with my best friend and partner, Andy (who I MUST see as often as possible).  And I no longer MUST go to the casinos as often as I used to.  I still love going, but the MUST factor has finally dissipated.  Whew!

But at the same time, I have new MUSTs in my life these days.  I MUST keep up with Facebook.  I MUST go to the gym a few times each week.  When I have to miss a day, I worry my body will suddenly blow up again.  I MUST do laundry on Friday night or early on Saturday, because I just hate doing it on Sunday!  I MUST write as often as I can.  It's become a need, a push, a love in my life, and I hope this drive never ceases.  And I MUST get to bed on time, and give myself 8 hours or more of sleep as often as possible.

I don't know if these are all related to age 39, as I've only just arrived here, but they are a good summary of what I've recently experienced in the past few years. 

I thought at one point I'd tell you I no longer need SMUT in my life, and provide a not-so-clever wordplay on the transition from SMUT to TUMS, but I don't see my love of smut going away anytime soon.  For those who are shocked (or even mock shocked) by this truth, let me be clear.  YES, you can embrace spirituality AND sexuality in your life at the same time.  God's gifts are many!

As I've gotten older, I've been absolutely tickled to realize I am in fact aging very well.  I attribute this to my health regimen of the past few years, my skincare, my gentle eye rinsing in the morning (lovingly de-gook-ing), and my overall joy in life.  Optimism and smiles will always keep you looking younger, as they're a facelift for your body and your soul! 

My MUSTs have changed since my teens and twenties, and I'm fine with that.  I like not feeling judged for missing SNL or the latest movies, and even when I do feel judged, I don't take it to heart anymore.  I fill my life with the people and things that matter most to me and make me happy.  And my happiness will always be on my MUST list!