Republished from Vernacular Nicely Said #51
Hello, dear reader and others just here for the saucy pictures.
I turn 57 this week.
I don’t like saying that out loud.
One of my kids asked me what I wanted for my birthday (she remembered!). “Nothing,” I said. I’m trying to rid myself of things. So we agreed to a nice dinner.
Something inside of me has changed. My back aches and my knees get grouchy. My elbows hurt, too. Tennis and golfer’s elbow. I don’t play either sport. Repetitive strain injuries, my physio says, though I’m unsure what it is I’m repeating that would invite these symptoms.
I bought a red-light therapy band to see if it could help. Each evening, near-infrared light wavelengths penetrate my leathery skin, boosting mitochondrial energy production and accelerating cellular repair. No changes so far. Perhaps all those wrinkles are a barrier fantastically impermeable to healing light.
I gob handfuls of tablets shaken from forgotten bottles fished up from the back of the pantry… used-by dates be damned … a little turmeric to ease inflammation, ashwagandha to relieve the disappointment of red light’s enfeebled curative properties.
Magnesium for sleep, which comes when I’m on the couch but flees when a bed is involved and, oh yes, berberine for cholesterol that only creeps up.
I’ve tried intermittent fasting for the autophagy and a three-day “sardine fast” for ketosis and the brain boost. Between meals cats sniffed my mouth and flies attempted a greasy beard formation. I don’t eat sardines anymore.
I’m over-sharing, but it’s what the modern world demands. Show some vulnerability, Richard, they said, it’ll do you wonders. Think of it as your “superpower” that fosters genuine connection and trust.
People don’t want a perfectly curated “highlight reel.” Just as well, because one of my past employment highlights was sneaking into a disused meeting room and sleeping under the table.
At the very least, knowing a sliver of what ails me might excite schadenfreude in your heart. Or perhaps encourage deeper reflection that triggers your gratitude gland. “I’ve got nothing to worry about compared to this old sap,” you might say to yourself. How wonderful you’ll feel.
Such reframing immediately triggers your parasympathetic nervous system. Soon your pulse will slow, your blood pressure will drop, and the stress hormone cortisol will magically dissipate.
You’re welcome.
Despite my infirmities I, too, like to practice gratitude, though in my condition I must think bigger than I used to.
Bad elbows, pah! Look skywards – see – bombs do not fall. Give a little thanks.
Sore back – who cares! Rain falls on my face, but it does not burn my eyes. Luxury.
Circling flies? I have a swat. Kapow!
My heart is set to burst with modest fulfilment.
Keep reading, magnificent humans.