I was originally going to call this post “Anachronistic Aging And Preventing A Paradox” but who are we kidding— even for me — that’s stretching title creativity to its limits. So… I’m getting older and well… we all know what that means, right? Cake. It means cake.
Tomorrow marks my 29th birthday. According to statistical probability that means I have 49 more years to go.
Wait? How does “Life expectancy by country” work when I have moved to another country? Should I go by my country of origin because the average is based on ethnicity — being white meat — so strongly that regardless of where I live I still abide by the average life expectancy of a Finnish male? Or have I just given myself an extra year? What contributes to our average life expectancy?
Needless to say, “mortality” is now a permanent part of my vocabulary. I’ve gotten older in ways I’ve actually begun to notice — scary I know — and it is dawning on me that whatever I’m feeling now — physically speaking at least — is only likely to get worse. Sure, I suppose I could start going to the gym but let’s just all take a moment to laugh at very notion of that.
Gym. Pour moi? No. Carlos no need go ze gym. Carlos is strong like oxe and virile like ze lion.
Oh, how Future-Carlos is going to look back at this moment and think, “What an ignorant and arrogant jerk. Well, who’s laughing now Past-Carlos, huh?! Just you wait. Five years from now, just you wait.”
That little anachronistic moment aside I am growing painfully aware that I should take care of myself better. I just… really don’t want to make the — or any — effort to do so.
So yeah… I’m at stage 1 according to the Kübler-Ross model. Oh, why I can’t I be at stage 3 already?
Moving on.
So no, I’m not going to start going to the gym. I’m going to keep on pretending that I’m fine without exercise and possible — and very likely — regret it later.
One thing I am changing though — though the effort is zero from my part — is birthday candles. You know how when you were younger you always got as many candles on your cake as how old you were? But then when you turn something like 5 you just get that Arabic numeral instead, which let’s all be honest now, is stupid and no one wants it.
Right? I can’t be the only one?
Or worse. No cake at all. Oh, the horror.
So, for this years birthday celebration when my wife asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I wished for a cake with 29 candles. Because “Fuck you!”, I’m almost 30 and if I want [deity] damn candles on my fucking birthday cake, that’s what I am going to have. Thankfully though, my wife didn’t see a reason to question why I would want candles on my cake and simply replied with a resounding “Sure thing!”. Have I told you how awesome she is by the way?
My wife is awesome.
This Sunday is also Father’s Day here in the UK which means I have two reasons to celebrate because…
“Procreation-five!”
Other than that I don’t actually want anything specific for my birthday. I am very happy where I am in life and letting go of most of my earthly possessions — more about that in the future “Living From A Suitcase” — was one of the most liberating things I have ever done.
But I’m having a cake with 29 individually placed candles. And next year, it’s going to be 30.