One of the (very) few things I've ever been even close to good at in my life, so far, is worrying. Without sounding too much like a humblebrag, but knowing that's exactly what it is, if they ever make worrying an Olympic event you'll see me at the awards podium. concerned that the creases on the bunting draping the platform might be too sharp and cut someone or how the ribbon for the medal has been known to cause chafing on some people's necks.
I got up yesterday morning with a moment of clarity I've not had in many, many years: none of the things about which I worry are impacted in any way by my concern about them. As a matter of fact, the only thing seemingly that is impacted by my worrying is the enjoyment of those moments of pleasure and happiness I do have, usually through no merit of my own.
As I've aged, a lot of the stuff that I don't remember being covered in Grown-Up School is catching up with me and the number of health 'issues' that are now well beyond that continue to both multiply and intensify.
I have a primary care provider, a cardiologist, an endocrinologist, a hematologist, a nephrologist, a pulmonologist, a rheumatologist, and a urologist. That's a helluva lot of healthcare professionals for someone who is only five foot, eight inches tall (not counting my smile, visible from space).
There's a joke about 'cheer up, things could get worse; so I did cheer up and they did get worse,' that's not nearly as funny to me in recent months as it was in previous decades, and yet I intend to keep the grin affixed to my mug because from a distance it's harder to tell if it's a grimace or a smile.
-bill kenny
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