We, as humans, must learn to think. That’s where the problem lies. We are never taught to think for ourselves. First, our parents tell us what to think, then, school tells us what to think. Then, some person in authority tells us what we should be thinking. Oh, and don’t forget about the people on TV who talk just to hear their lips rattle. Thinking takes work, and people are lazy. Why not let someone else do all of your thinking for you? It’s easier that way.
What I am about to write will cause the reader to think, so you should stop here. Hell, I should probably stop writing, because to write what I am about to write could cause my head to hurt due to being overworked. As I wrote in the opening paragraph to this soapbox approach to thought-provoking, hopefully hell-raising, ideas, thinking takes work. People are lazy. Why think when your thinking can be done for you by others?
So, let me do some thinking for you.
Okay, I lied. I’m not going to do your thinking for you. I’m just going to bitch about something I find troubling.
A few weeks ago, a friend made a comment that set me back on my heels. He stated he doubted he’d be around in ten years. He’s younger than I am. That kind of attitude and outlook on life I find to be defeatist. In his case, it’s as though he’s given up on life. Well, he’s entitled to his own thoughts. I do not agree with them, but it is what it is, I suppose.
I, on the other hand, have no such defeatist ideas. We’re the same age, or close to it. You would think I would have the same outlook on my future as he does on his. Not the case. I’m going to live forever.
We all know that’s not going to happen, but I’m damned sure going to live more than ten years. At least, that’s my plan. I’m going to be around long enough that I make life miserable for someone, somewhere. I can’t say how many more days, weeks, years I have left on earth, but I’m definitely not thinking that my time making everyone around me miserable is going to end in a decade, or less.
No, in ten years I plan on being able to walk into a nice establishment, or maybe limp, roll, or be carried, with my Panama perched on my head just so. I’ll find a table in the corner where I can watch the surrounding people. I’ll order a drink, sit back, and prepare for an hour or two of sipping a fine bourbon while intently observing the movements of beautiful women as they swivel their way through the crowd.
That’s my plans. I’m not sure where I’ll accomplish all this, but I know I’ll give it a damned good try somewhere, with or without someone else there as my witness.
I suppose what I’ve been writing about involves health—mental health. It’s all about your mind convincing your aging body it’s not getting as old as it thinks it is. And taking care of something you only have one of—your body. But, I’ve grown weary of discussing health matters with people who do not care to hear about anything that will make their lives better, and allow them to live longer. They choose to ignore the warning signs of what their destructive habits are doing to their mind and body, but, instead, go about their unhealthy ways because it takes effort to change, and in their minds, it’s less pleasurable.
I recently read a very good article about improving your health in ways that will allow you to add a few years to the end of your life. I’m not going to tell you what this article says (it is some very good advice), because if you actually care about your health you should be aware of these things. If you aren’t, and you’re concerned about whether you might have a future to look forward to, I suggest you click and learn:
Good night, Mrs. Jackson, wherever you are.