The Climb and the Fall of America

One of the toughest things is to realize that we aren't young any more, and that our bodies are beginning to break down. For some of us this realization comes early, perhaps due to some illness or brush with death in our youth. For most of us the breakdown of our physical body begins in our thirties and progresses until our inevitable demise, hopefully later than sooner. Each of us must face death in our own way. Perhaps we become more conscious, and choose the path of prevention, or maybe we choose to accelerate our death, perhaps through poor diet, alcohol, drugs, eating too much or not enough, or engaging in dangerous activities. Much of this kind of activity is unconscious, and has been well-documented. In the end, we cannot prevent our disintegration, no matter how careful we are.

Throughout my life I have struggled with the paradox of life and death. I have been a careful person, so careful that I can engage in enormously dangerous sports (rock climbing) where the line between life and death is incredibly small and hangs on the slightest mistake. I have come close to losing my life on a number of occasions, up there on the rocks, and it was only extreme care and attention that made the difference. Paradoxically, I am also a person who feels a desire to let go, to allow myself to fall off the edge, to drink, to smoke, to do whatever it takes to obliterate myself. Both the desire to hold on tight and to let go are attempts to flirt with the edges of my limited, egoic reality. They are part of a death dance that I have engaged in all of my adult life, if not before.

But things are changing, as they must, sooner or later. Having children, and wanting to watch them grow, has begun to erode my death instinct. I have become more aware of my mortality. Recent health problems--symptoms of middle age--are beginning to bring me closer to the edge than ever before. I don't need to climb a cliff to feel the edge of life. The edge is with me all the time. I can actually feel my body slipping, slowly, day by day.

I'm feeling closer to death, and wanting life more than ever before. My patience for wasted time is gone. I have no room for insanity, unconsciousness, or bullshit. I consistently seek the quality moment. I am intolerant of people who seem more interested in personal drama than genuine connection. I would rather sing or dance or eat good food than watch television or read the paper.

Now all of this could turn around. I might begin to heal myself and become fully re-invested in the American McConomy. I might lose sight of mortality, and once again feel invincible, isolationist, and free to disconnect myself from the heart of life. I might get control of this f*cking thing! I will get control! I will! I will stop the terrorists!

But I doubt it.

I want this loss of control to happen. I am tired of trying to fix things. I am tired of being careful. Denial of the breakdown does not stop the breakdown from happening.

I am tired of trying to save the American Dream.