Here I am, fifty years old, and mortality finally caught up with me. I’ve lost a few people in recent years, but that didn’t trigger this existential crisis. I was too overcome with the grief of losing them, and the suffering of their children and grandchildren to contemplate me.
When it comes to being sick or having health scares, I’ve had my share. Each time though, as I sit and think about it, I wasn’t worried about dying. Perhaps that thought came in once or twice, but the main focus was “Get your ass up and beat this thing!”
I guess when you are in high adrenaline mode for a long time, you may not dig too deeply into fears. I am like that. If I am in survival mode, I’m just focused on walking through Hell and coming out the other side. Just a little bit wiser, and a hell of a lot stronger.
Lately, while I am doing better emotionally, and financially, and feeling safe (albeit in wonderment) in this new path, I’ve been thinking a lot about death. To be clear, I don’t want to die. I will do everything I can to stay on this planet as long as possible. But it’s been on my mind a lot lately, so I thought I’d try to pick that apart and figure it out.
What Are My Worries About Dying?
My dogs. Okay, let me explain. By hook or crook, I ended up the Dog Mom to five cute little spoiled asshole dogs. They are nice if they know you; if you are the Amazon Dude? Not so much. Most of my dogs are rescues. Dante is from Canada, and the rest of the brood is from Texas.
If something happens to me, I want to make sure that my dogs are cared for. That none of my dogs ever find themselves on the street, homeless, or in an abusive home. I had this talk after a particularly strong hemp edible, with Brent. We made a deal. He gets almost all my money, and he will take care of my dogs.
Unless my sister wants Marley. She kind of fell in love with him during her visit a couple of years ago. I would be okay with that. I’m not sure Diane wants a dog, but if she did, Buddy would be the best one for her. He adores cats… he may be part cat. He is chilled out, snuggly, and only drops a panic-poop every once in a while when he is startled.
Dante could go to my Mom, or stay with Brent. My Mom and her Spouse, have great affection for Dante. But she also has Jack, her sheltie. If something happens to my Mom, I have her word that I will get Jack. It seems my whole life is about caring for dogs. But I am okay with that.
The Life insurance policy is split between Brent and Mom. Katie will have her house paid off soon, so she is more than okay. I ponder my life choices and balance that with pride. It hasn’t been easy on my sister being a solo income; she kicked ass financially anyhow. I maintain that two divorces and moving to another country may have fucked with my trajectory… slightly. But what an interesting trip. 🙂
Access to My Finances
The Black File. Have you ever heard of that process? It is creating a folder will all your details inside. Bank account numbers, credit card numbers, 401k details, important phone numbers of family members to notify, life insurance policy, etc.
It is a “take care of your shit so it is easier on others after you die” task. Makes sense. The first thing I did was take my former off my policies. You want to see someone roll in their grave? I would if that #&!*#!# got another dime from me. Nope. Brent and Mom can have it.
It’s going to be a blissfully quiet weekend for me. I think I’ll get that done this weekend, instead of just talking about it. Proactivity was a resolution for 2024, so yay me. The Black File also includes funeral instructions (please cremate me and dump me in one of the Great Lakes in Canada). You can ship ashes internationally (I checked). And letters to people I love. I prefer to have the last word. <3
I Would Like to Hang Around and Enjoy the Bottom Half
How I feel, in a positive, nurturing, passionate ADULT relationship is joy. Just pure joy. I ask myself often and do the self-inventory thing (since it is established I am not the best at picking out good partners). I can’t think of anything that I would change about my SO. Brent’s awesome!
After a lifetime of looking at others disgustingly, over-the-top happy, loyal, successful relationships with disdain (yeah… jealousy), I find myself in one of those rare things. It’s been two years and we’re still crazy about each other. We both work from home. He comes down for coffee and I get giant stand-up hugs. Our jobs are hard and frequently stressful (but we still love them). The hugs help. Lot’s.
So I figure, it took me until fifty years of age to find him. My path in life has not been linear. Or a climbing line angling ever upward. My life has been more like an EKG… up… down… et al. That’s okay though. I’ve had a more interesting life that way, and I would not be the tough cookie I am today, without those low moments in my life.
My intention to the Universe? Please let me hang around for a while. I am learning life with a very passionate, supportive, honest, kind, thoughtful, and creative partner. The kind of relationship I was always aiming for. He and those five annoying pot roasts are my raison d’etre. They take care of me, and I really want to take care of them.
Grief Changes Your Perspectives in Life
Every time I click through YouTube or news items, I see another celebrity I grew up with, who has died. Musicians I loved, or actors, dying naturally of old age sometimes, and other times from accidents and overdoses. I am still not over Amy Winehouse.
I lived a pretty blessed life in terms of not losing anyone. Until the past four years. I lost my Godmother, my Aunt (Best Friend), and my Great Aunt too. Both my Aunts became critically ill due to Cancer. I felt a tremendous amount of pain when both of them passed. I felt guilt also because I was not “home” and there to care for them.
Sepsis tried to take me out, and I fought, and won. I still have Diabetes, which frankly sucks. The one lifelong gift my Father gave me (thaaaaaaaaanks!). I am a fighter. I get knocked down, and I get back up no matter what it takes. But my Aunt was like that too.
I think to a certain extent my father feared aging and death. I remember growing up, and noticing he had so little compassion for older people. My Italian grandparents were not fit, and as they aged, they could do less and less around the giant house they had built. He mocked them. Repeatedly.
I do not wish harm, suffering, or difficulty on anyone, but I wonder if he ever had a catharsis. When his diabetes began to make life unmanageable for him, or perhaps when he started to experience mobility issues and memory problems.
None of us are getting out of here alive. I watched my parents labor for the epic retirement, only to have that fall apart for a variety of reasons. Save and save, deny yourself fun and pleasures, so that you can pay off your house faster, and retire and THEN HAVE FUN.
I’ve done the math. I’ve purchased three houses in my lifetime and ended up with none. I have been through two divorces and many incidents in my life that would have stopped other people in their tracks, and emotionally immobilized them.
My thinking is to balance all the things, at age fifty. Rebuild, but also pause to smell the daisies. Cuddle with your dogs away from the computer, with a nice cup of (keto) cocoa. Talk about happy things, not stressful things with those you love. Be light, and be grateful to still be on the planet. I eat life with two fists and leave crumbs everywhere… I fucking love that about myself.
I will always get up when I am knocked down, and confront or fix whatever needs fixing in my life head on. Until one day, when life serves me something that I cannot fix, no matter how hard I try. When that time comes, I hope someone saves this blog. The poetry will live on forever I hope, on a free site. And the adventures of Skylar Smythe will too.
No Time For Stupid Shit
I thought my forties were supposed to be the “f*ck it” decade. Turns out, I gave “all the f*cks” so, to create a new vibe of existence, I have decided that my fifties are going to be my “f*ck it” years. Because I like to be organized, I have a list.
- F*ck obsessing about what other people think about you. Did they get a good read on you? Awesome. Did they get you wrong? S’okay. Few people take the time to actually get to know someone anymore. I figure I am as transparent as water. Don’t like me? It will make me sad (I like other humans a lot) but I will live, and spend FAR LESS time ruminating over the reasons why you may not like me. We’re just not a good fit. Personally? I think you’re missing out 😂. I mean, the cooking alone dude…
- F*ck dwelling on the past. Could of, would have, should have? Please. Life is not a linear path, it is full of detours that you have to navigate. If your life has been uneventful, I am jealous AF, but I still wouldn’t change the person I am today. Adversity gave me skills other people don’t really have, and I love my emotional strength. Since we cannot go back in time, it is pointless to look in the rearview mirror. I am more interested in the road ahead.
- F*ck stress. I know we humans can’t really avoid stress, but Anxiety Girl has been listening to podcasts and audiobooks about healthy stress management. I am also doing weird things like self-care when I am feeling stressed. Taking a break for five minutes to pet my dog and lower my blood pressure during the workday, for instance. Or saying “Nope” to going out, and soaking in the tub or watching movies with my pups instead. That is recharge time. When I need it, I make it happen as a priority.
- F*ck being fearful of unemployment. I have worked hard to forge a great career as a Marketing executive. Notice I capitalized Marketing. It is my science, my passion, and my creative outlet. The fact that my job helps other people every day? That’s awesome. Losing my job in the M&A for the cannabis healthcare company I was working for messed my confidence up. Finding another job in a hell hole of a company immediately following? That took some strength to tolerate. But finding my dream job has been wonderful. If it stops being bilaterally wonderful, I am confident another wonderful job will be right around the corner.
- F*ck worrying about money. It was pretty hard to be a saver when married to a spender, who didn’t help very much with living expenses. Well, I am not there anymore. I reached my savings goal for 2023. I listened to a great podcast that put it frankly: “Want to stop worrying about money? Start saving!” Splitting the cost of living bills with Brent helps tremendously (for both of us) and we are 50/50 on the house rent, and groceries, hell, we even take turns buying the 36-pound bag of dog food every two weeks. I don’t want to be in the situation I was in after I lost my job. The more I put into savings, the less anxiety I have about the “what if” stuff in life.
- F*ck poor sleeping habits. Here I thought I wasn’t trainable, but apparently, you can teach an old dog new tricks. Brent is kind of religious about bedtime. Over a decade of being a freelancer (much of that time while holding a day job) taught me to burn the candle at both ends. Now I go to bed at a decent time, because I have some cute guy reminding me that sleep is important.
- F*ck gossips, liars, revisionists of history, narcissists, and the generally negative sort. Look, life is hard, and we’re not supposed to be cheerful and happy all the time, but if you are constantly vibing the “life sucks” mantra, I don’t want to be around you. Ironically, I have been that person, so my intolerance for it in myself has made me less tolerant of it in other people. Haters too? Just a few, but that’s okay with me. I feel like it’s a badge of honor… followers don’t have haters. Leaders do. 💪🏻 I have no desire to be liked by everyone or unilaterally get along with everyone. I have more integrity than that.
- F*ck not making time for self-care. That means eating low carb like a GOOD DIABETIC (guess who found Aldi keto wannabe chocolate snacks?) and getting exercise. I can do better, but I am off to a great start. I am also down to the 180s in terms of weight. I have not been in the 180s since college. I do worry that I am going to look like a dry-cleaned pachyderm, wrinkled in places, making me even more fugly. My pancreas will thank me. I am not running away from my diagnoses of thyroid problems and diabetes; I am paying attention and doing the right things. Most of the time. I also stopped drinking alcohol several months ago, and do not even miss it. 🙂
Also, f*ck not making time for creative writing. Since the existential phase of being aware of mortality has arrived, I also realize it’s time to get my ass in gear and start writing the books that are screaming in my head. Or rather, fish them out of Google Drive and wrap them up. While I still have time to be a famous writer.
