It’s not like it was a new thought, but it hit me pretty hard. I was thinking, hmmm, my mother died at the age of seventy-two. If I were to die at that same age, that would mean that I only have three years left on this earth. Holy Shit! Three years? Do you know how short three years is? And at my age, there’s no guarantee that I have even that long. Let’s assume that I live to eighty-two, like my dad did. That still means only thirteen more years – better, but no brass ring. So what do you do with a thought like that?

First, I’ve already accepted the idea that I’m going to die. That was a tough one, and by “accepted” I mean that I understand the reality of it, not a willingness to go gentle into that good night. No one gets out of here alive. But that acceptance doesn’t mean, “Ho-hum, I guess I’ll just sit here waiting for the ol’ Grim Reaper.” No, it’s more a slap upside the head that says “Hey, DO SOMETHING!”

Why is it that the bucket list gets longer as life gets shorter? I want to do things now that I never wanted to do before, and that includes things that I haven’t a prayer in hell of doing, given the aging of my abilities. Even given the physical ability to do something, you must consider whether you really have enough life left to do some of those things, particularly when it comes to monetary investments. No sense buying a grand piano because the likelihood of becoming a concert pianist in your lifetime is – let’s face it – impossible. However, I would never piss on someone’s dream to accomplish that goal, even at my age, but I might suggest just renting a piano, or buying an inexpensive keyboard.

Anyways, it’s back to actually doing something instead of griping about the limitations imposed by age, and realizing that the limitation isn’t so much your age, but your attitude. I guess mine can use a little adjustment.