REBOOT
In or around the summer of 1983 my family jumped feet first into the technological rat race with the purchase of an Apple II computer. A green screened monitor and floppy disk drive attached we were immediately whisked away into...well. Not much. There was no internets, no word processing, few games and really a whole lot of not much. I realized quickly I wasn’t a scratch programmer, my trials at BASIC programming reduced to lines of text that created a toothpick line flipping across the screen with a vapor trail of lines behind it. I was filled with a distinct feeling of “is that it”?, my plummet into super nerdom thwarted, I got up and went to practice holding my breath in the backyard pool, a skill I still practice to this day, the dividends voluminous.
Now, the infiltration of technology is so immense that we drive down the road with a phone in one hand, tapping away like a cracked out rat in a science experiment, careful to never miss a goddamn thing. 31 years from toothpicks to brain dependence. It was a solid run though right? I mean it brought us all sorts of good things, massive leaps in medicine, split second access to everything, memes. Thank the 8.6 pound baby Jesus (and Steve Jobs while we are at it) for the memes!!
If you haven’t been to this little corner of the internet in a while, I’ll remind you of a few of the recurring themes. I constantly question everything. I say, “if I’m honest” a lot. I am an exhausting over exerciser that has everything he does intertwined in “being healthy. I tell you ad nauseum to start over again. I stumble, fall and get back up again. I love nostalgia, the 80’s, long walks on the beach and puppy breath. I reference my not writing in my writing while restarting my writing. I come up with things to do, sometimes doing them, sometimes declaring I’m going to do them and then failing. I battle bouts of depression and how much I should reveal of that within these writings so as not to alarm my family. I ride bikes, run, swim, complain about not doing strength work and humble brag about my sick, just above average results. I constantly write the post where I try to show you, the reader, that every single one of us must battle, I just happen to be willing to share with the group.
All of these things usually make me one of 3 people to the outside world. Some sort of hero, some sort of douchebag, or some sort of person you think needs professional help. I’m not making light (yes I am) but this is reality. My goal is to be more of the first than the last two, but it depends on the day I think.
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Today is a new day. Yesterday, in one of my fits of telling you I’d be re-booting this thing (I never stopped, just slowed), I set a goal of releasing ONE post a week at midnight Wednesday’s. I pulled over at 1:45 yesterday and wrote a pissy intro about nothing and scrapped it. Now it’s 6:22 a.m. I’m late, but persevering. Tapping away as I drive, 60 mph down the road to one of my jobs....Just kidding. I’m in bed typing. Just seeing if you were still with me.
This morning I am thinking. Thinking hard and wondering what it is that I want to say. For a few months I’ve been wondering a lot if I am still motivated by the things I’ve been saying motivate me for the last twenty years. I’ve been wondering which ones I really care about. I’ve been weighing, like one of those fancy scales you see on lawyer’s business cards, the worth vs. the effort of the things I spend my time doing. I’ve been wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up. I’m hoping I grow one more inch in this process as well, mostly to spread out the extra 5-10 COVID pounds I seem to be keeping.
Mostly I’m considering what it means to be 50.
Ahhhhh, there it is. The old mid life crisis. Or something. I don’t want a new wife, or a Porsche, or need to jump out of an airplane, but there is an overarching “thing” hanging out. A life tinnitus, ringing in my ears. A need to draw attention to the contrast of my health “at my age” and a wondering (a lot) about what I really give a shit about. It’s like 20 years of living one way has spilled me off an exit ramp into “are you sure” land, pressed by the acceleration of my time left on this earth (did I really just type that?).
This, if you’re wondering, is what I’ve been doing instead of writing. Thinking. About nothing. About everything. About why.
About. Why.
It always seems to come back to this and really, I’ve spent the last 843 words explaining away mine. Diminishing it. Wondering it away. Because that’s what I do. In the end though I am still pretty almost sure that I am fueled by the need to try my best to make others better. Through health. Through coaching. Through challenging what they think they believe about themselves. I think I’m pretty good at it because, Jesus Christ, look at how much I think about being better. I’m exhausting. But you get the benefit of that (hopefully). The packaging of what I do may shift over time, my methods may bounce like my distracted brain, I may question constantly if I even like people, but in the end I want you all to be better. To figure out something that brings you peace. That make the days when you wonder if you should get out of bed a little better, because look, that orange glasses, speedo wearing fool does it and questions it too. When it boils all the way down to almost ruining the pan. That’s still why.
So today, I met my goal (6:41 minutes late and counting). I did what I said I was going to do.
Hero or douchebag. You get to decide.
#hugsandhi5s
