Contrarian
I distinctly remember this. I was in church, sitting with the other children, listening to one of the women reading us a lesson from the bible. It made no sense — god, who we were supposed to love, telling a man to kill his son to show that love. At that moment, it occurred to me that this woman was just reading by rote, blindly accepting that, as it was the bible, it was true, and not to be questioned. This built on another epiphany I had experienced a few weeks before. I was at church camp, listening to the other kids gushing about how wonderful it was to make that leap of faith and find god. That night, and for a few others, I would lay in bed, begging for god to reveal himself to me. Didn’t happen. So these two things I thought about, and I made a decision. This religion thing was not for me. I told my father I had given it a lot of thought, and I wasn’t going to church any more. His response was: “Well that’s the problem with you — you think too much!” Clearly upset him, but I never again went too church.
I grew up in a mean little town somewhere in Appalachia. If you’re familiar with the song “One Horse Town”, by Blackberry Smoke, that would be me. Grow up and do what our elders did, become what they are, have kids and have them expect the same. On and on. So I did, for 50 miserable years. One day I just decided, “F*** this. No more.” I got a degree, left that crappy little town, and moved to Europe, followed by China, Saudia Arabia, and Cambodia, where I live now.
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I’ve been reading a lot, on Medium and other publications, about aging, deterioration of the body, the inevitability of death and how to accept all these nasty things. Here’s my take: bullshit. I retired at 62, 13 years ago, to Cambodia. Already had a plan. Get healthy. I was in ok shape, not fat, but not great to see in the mirror. I bought some gym equipment and started walking. Bought more weights. Made all the mistakes, tore muscles, suffered, had to go to a physical therapist after trashing my shoulders. I kept at it, learned what not to do, what worked. Got mad, got discouraged, wondered why I was doing it. Tough. Keep on keeping on. Just do it. And here I am today. Look like a 30-year old gym rat. Wear a uniform of compression shirt, cargo pants, and sneakers, every day. People stare, wonder how I do it. Exercise and diet, I tell them. And stubbornness.
I used to think about dying, now I just don’t give a damn. As I tell my sister, I’ll go out giving the universe the middle finger of both hands.
Last thoughts. Question authority. Keep on keeping on. “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” by Dylan Thomas. Death, dying, growing old, becoming infirm? Meh. That’s for others. I’m contrarian.
