As I approach yet another 35th birthday, it is natural to look back, then ahead, then back again before deciding to cross the superhighway that is another year of life. For one thing, I have begun to settle down in terms of personal aspirations; some things have had to be resigned, re-prioritized, or just flat-out written off. For instance, I begin to realize that I will most likely never learn to play guitar.
I can hear your arguments now: "you could easily learn to play guitar, just take some lessons and you will be serenading the family with the Best of Johnny Cash at Christmases-to-come starting this December." And you're right. Of course you are. But as one ages, one really does start to understand the power of priorities. For instance, on my deathbed, will I look back with relish on those hours spent learning guitar or will I regret all the moments I didn't get to spend sitting on my ass daydreaming up some cockamamie story to tell anyone who would listen? If you know me, you know the answer to that question. If learning the chords to "Free Fallin'" preculdes me from even one ridiculously pointless flight of fancy, it would so totally not be worth it.
What other things won't I accomplish? Will I ever buy a home? Will I ever regret not buying a home? What should I accomplish? Should I visit a psychic to help me sort all of this out?
Age brings on many questions.
I have decided on one goal, though I am tired and lethargic and my legs lose a little bit of feeling for every day I sit behind a desk for just enough money to make my rent. That goal is to live - in other words, not to die. I have, after much contemplation, decided, without any further hesitation and doubt, that I do not want to die. Not now, not ever. The more I think about death, the more I come to realize that it is going to hurt. I cannot think of any way in which dying does not hurt. O maybe, just for an instant, but that is one instant of pain I would rather avoid.
I know all of this sounds strange, but in reality, people have always worked towards immortality, either through such direct means as alchemy, witchcraft and vampirism, or such indirect means as religion, statuary or producing immortal works of art, architecture and male offspring. I confess that I am not so much interested in the indirect means to immortality - they all seem like cop-outs or unmitigated projections of personal vanity. Not for me. Vampirism, so far as I can glean, involves death, therefore the pain of death, and so is disqualified from any further consideration. Alchemy is probably made up. At any rate, I doubt if I have enogh time left to learn its secrets.
All that leaves is witchcraft. Magic. A selling of one's immortal soul to the Devil himself. Now, I have read more than my share about the Devil and have come to the conclusion, barring some partisan reporting from the church and its allies, that he isn't that bad. Milton's Satan seems like a guy (fallen angel, to be absolutley accurate) to whom I could relate. Faust's devil seems like any other I run into most every day here in DC. The Devil and Daniel Webster? The Devil in Miss Jones? George Burns in Oh God! You Devil!? None of these depictions of Satan is so bad that I wouldn't put myself in his service in exchange for immortality. Honestly! I've put up with worse bosses for less than $40K per annum, much less eternal life.
So. In summary - birthday, regret, resolve, Satan, witchcraft, immortality. There you go. I also realized that this entry does not contain 35 ways of doing anything. That is because 35 is too large of a number. I could not think of 35 anythings, much less 35 specific things. But by then, I had already decided on a title and I don't have time to change it.
