“Where does it end?” asks El Hubbo.
He’s referring to the steady stream of Amazon book deliveries that make their way to our front porch. “Thinking Fast and Slow.” “Brain Rules.” “The Brain That Changes Itself”. The collection grows.
And the addition of the strangely delicious coconut oil I now stir into morning coffee. Clear yellow capsules of DHA fish oil and Vitamin D3 are underfoot. There is strict abhorrence of high fructose corn syrup and no place for it in our kitchen. But there is plenty of room for brain-healthy salmon and turmeric. Curried fish anyone?
Of course the fiendish gym workouts and morning runs are a must, no exceptions. Thirty minutes of daily aerobic exercise, that’s the rule – no matter how crowded my schedule, the hour of day, the missed opportunities.
Nope, to answer his question, there is no end until the end. I’m dragging all of my mental hard drive – every last neuron, every dendrite, every Golgi body – with me into the vast unknown of remaining years. (Smile icon here). At least I’m doing everything I know how to make that happen.
A more elegant expression of my burn-out-not-fade-out mantra is found in the final verses of a poem by Mary Oliver called “When Death Comes.” It’s a gem and not at all depressing as the title would indicate:
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real,
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up by simply having visited this world.