My Mortality

My mortality is something I've been thinking about lately, some through my own circumstances and others beyond my control. Am I leaving a strong legacy behind, one worthy of the Armstrong surname? It's true we all know of the legendary work ethic and penny-pinching ways, but what else will people of me? I'm not getting any younger,m and as I was shaving earlier, I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. The reflection showed a few wrinkles on my fat face sans mustache and goatee as well as eyelids darkening that I've hidden so well behind eyeglasses and a semi-destroyed Boston Red Sox fitted cap, brim bent to the contours of my head. What did I discover? One, I've gained a LOT of weight. In the past twenty months and two, I am getting old. Metabolism rate? Retired. It's in Miami playing shuffleboard. That 30" vertical leap? Divorced since '08, a few days after I last dunked a basketball in front of my 8th period English class. All I see is gray hairs increasing in places that once carpeted thousands of black curly hairs, or trained naps as a detractor once commented.

I know I cannot slow down time - and it would be unnatural to push myself to my pledge weight, much less high school skinny - but I need to eat like a grownup. The foods that I destroyed with no impunity now remind me of bad decisions past. Taco Bell at 3am isn't all that great of an idea at 35 as opposed to 19. Ditto for chugging 30 packs of PBR when craft beer is so much better. Motivation to exercise eludes me like a gnat within eyesight; some days I go all day long running or playing basketball, while on others my exercise is walking down the hall. Don't get me started on my office/cave.

Speaking of legacy, maybe I've begun to realize my own through my family. Dad's losing hair, mom has an ocean of gray, in-laws are semi-retired, the nephew is walking, and even my wife has become a homebody. No more life in the suitcase - it has been traded for a permanent place called home. Living for the weekend is now subsided by work, church, and scheduled date night here and there; the traveler's passport currently collects dust. Instead, I hold memories of epic road trips, good nights turned great, and so many moments of ridiculousness I'd have to count stars to give a ballpark figure. Let's not forget taking a brand new SUV muddin' and my first time in the city. Yep, New York City. Skyscrapers and everything!

When I do depart this side of life for my eternal ticket to Heaven, people are going to say stuff about me, perhaps throw in a falsehood or two (no, I wasn't exactly a ladies' man), but know this:  I tried. They may say I was faithfully dedicated to my wife, a good provider, upright Christian man (again, I tried), a worker bee, one of the smartest people they've ever met, good-natured, driven, a great teacher, passionate about living life to the fullest, a diligent saver, etc. That may be fine and dandy, but for one thing:  I'm dead. I can't hear your belated flowery language. I'd also recommend that they try to live as close to Christ as possible.

All in all, I do acknowledge that I am 35 and at peace with where life has taken me despite my aversion to the graveyard shift. Things happen for a reason, and I've learned to accept that. Where I assumed that I would have set up private practice - or remained a retail manager - the slower pace of peonage works. I only wish the pay had followed me, but knowing my worth means more. I once had a manager who periodically reminded me not to fight above my weight class until I was ready to slay the competition. Preparation means more than diving into failure; as he said, you can get hired out of here if you're not ready for what the role requires of you. It took several years to understand that, and as a result, my career path admittedly hasn't been as linear as expected. You know what? Life happens. The book isn't completed yet, so stayed tuned for the next chapters.