When I was young, running wild and maybe a bit too free,
I sometimes wondered what would be the death of me.
Such an uninteresting thought, the sordid slog to forty,
and a burning determination to not even try for fifty.
Would I die by accident,
on a Caribbean calypso-crazed sort of night,
a hapless target of some mysterious incident,
or the victim of an unwanted, pointless fight?
Would I die by an evil twist,
gunned down protecting gorillas in the Virunga mist?
My head locked just a split-second, red hot in laser sights,
on to Valhalla, an eternity of warrior days and wild nights.
Or would I hit fresh-frozen black ice,
roaring on two wheels under the splendor of the Northern Lights,
throttle wrist-locked, rear wheel spinning behind my knees,
as I slid, still smiling, into the embrace of the welcoming trees?
When I almost died at thirty-three,
there ended my life of risk and chance,
and began a bounty of extra years, all for free,
but in a routine, boring dance.
I wound up with a wonderful young wife
and a ridiculously young son,
the rewards of staying in it for the long run,
instead of dying hard and ending short a life.
It’s all quite nice and mostly very good;
life goes pretty much as it should.
Yet when I sit and have my nightly drink,
Each time I can’t help but think,
if I had died at thirty-three,
I would still have been me.
| Copyright © 2020 by Paul Clark |
I'm not entirely convinced that those wonderings about how you might die occurred during those wild days and nights of early life rather than in your present, later years of reflection and taking stock. But perhaps you always were a philosopher, just too busy wilding during earlier times.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, no movie portrayal of a risk-taking youth has been as convincing as that final photo of motomynd!
That photo is all the evidence anyone could ever need as to why I chose to become the family photographer at about age nine. That way I could stay behind the camera, instead of in front of it. #notamodel
ReplyDeleteDon't know about being a philosopher, but I always tried to be a thinker and a writer, even as a child. By the time I was 18, I had lost two very close friends to drunk drivers, almost been stabbed in the neck with a screwdriver during a robbery attempt, and had to sort out a 'Nam versus Canada plan in case I was drafted. I think that made me "over serious" about life, yet somehow "under serious" about death. That attitude, and a natural aversion to screen time, took me to all 50 states and a bunch of countries. Living a real life 18 hours/day, 7 days/week, produces some interesting adventures and misadventures, but it doesn't leave much time to write it down or sit idly in front of a screen.
There were mile stones in my life that upon reaching them I was surprised and happy to see I was still alive. I feel I have walked with death breathing down the back of my neck all my life--he has become and old friend.
ReplyDeleteEd, isn't that the truth? For some people, being comfortable is out of their comfort zone. Did you ever get into what seemed like it might become an impossible situation, then come away disappointed because you got out of it a bit too easily, without even a great tale to tell, much less a scar to show?
ReplyDeleteI believe best example of that feeling was when I had colon cancer. I went through all the bullshit that was expected of me and others, the operation and follow up chemo. Then going in once a month for a check, thinking each time this is when the other shoe will drop. After four years preparing to die at any moment, the doctor told me I was cancer free and the odds of it coming back were very little. When you wait for death that long you really don't plan for the future. The first thing that went through my mind was what the hell do I do now? I became very depressed and took medication for it until we moved to Costa Rica. Out side of the time I was shot with that forty-five most of the close calls I brushed off as--it must not be my time.
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