I am 6 feet tall and recently noticed that my weight was 217 pounds. 216 pounds is the most I’ve ever weighed previously. I heard alarm bells in my head. I had to make a decision to get larger pants or lose weight. This morning due to eating better less calories, no junk food and using the treadmill with intermittent fasting. I’ve lost 3 pounds. In a matter of a week. This is good, but I need to continue and push myself. I’ve been doing some wall push-ups or push-offs since I cannot do push-ups on the floor. They have helped at least feeling I’m doing something with myself. I’m not going to go telling family about it that I gave up my beloved ice cream, because they will roll their eyes and go the same old thing. But the positive of the same old thing is that I change willfully I make changes. It’s up to me nobody else. It’s a matter of wanting to feel good or better about myself.
I’m growing a beard. I’ve been doing it every autumn for the past few years. It used to bother me because it does not grow the same on each side. Now I accept it and embrace it looking rather ragged but that’s OK. It is what it is. My bird Maxi likes it. Good place to take a nap in. I used to care so much about how I looked so self-conscious, and I have replaced that self-consciousness with a sense of humor about how I look and acceptance. Accepting myself, as I would very good friend. I talk to myself when driving sometimes the person I talk to his name Scotty. Yes, he answers. We are on good terms these days. Much of my life I was not I would have arguments with myself, and berate myself for things. Now I laugh it off most of the time. My dentist had asked me how long I would keep the beard. I shrugged. Maybe this time I won’t shave it off in the spring. I’ve never grown a long pe
Beard, that would be interesting. Having a wild, looking beard that I do not trim except for the area around my mouth, makes me feel like I’ve got a bush growing out of my face, and I can hide behind it.
I’ve been thinking recently about how in the past I would often try to seek the approval of others. My father, who I could rarely ever please. My boss of 40 years. He seem to have a sadistic enjoyment in screaming at me about some bullshit thing that didn’t matter in the long run and then watch me as I tried to appease him to get his anger down. I tried to get approval from my siblings especially my sister and brother-in-law. That ended maybe a year ago I just got tired of it. Yes, they are arrogant and educated and wealthy but I am fine as I am, don’t have to bow to them. I see their flaws. My former boss is interesting these days in that we keep in contact, but he can’t bully me as he did in the past. I made peace with myself about my father, realizing I never could please him no matter what I did. I think there was a time when I rebelled against that trying to be what he wanted me to be. It’s funny because when I was a youth, he got angry and told me to stop being that way. I asked him what way? The way you are, he replied. I felt stunned and sick. I asked him what he wanted me to be like. His only answer was just don’t be like you are. That was so fucked up. If there is such a thing as a solo, rest in peace, dad. It took me decades, but I don’t feel I have to bow down to anybody now, except for my birds. And that is very willing. I enjoy caring for them. I remember the very sad horrifying day left the factory for the last time. I saw my former boss going out to his car, and all the other coworkers I’ve known for so long. With the sadness, there was a relief that I would no longer have to try to please anybody just to get along.
I stay in contact messaging one former coworker. He was always a good natured person. Big man that lost much weight due to cancer that he beat. I told him as far as challenges in life, goes regarding any pain that he had worked at the Michigan ladder company for many years doing hard labor, and he had beat cancer twice. He can face anything. Working at the factory for so long gave me an inner strength because of the many injuries I suffered. Physically, and mentally. I try not to remember some of the accidents I had there, especially the three concussions. I remember how hot and how cold it got there. How loud and dusty. During the pandemic, I laughed about people complaining about masks. Are used to wear masks working with wood in very hot temperatures. I remember some of the pain I went through dragging myself along and now I think OK I went through all that shit I can face anything. Despite my age, I just have to push through it. Sensibly without that machismo bullshit.
I recently read an article about a man that had been beaten, and he was referred to as a “senior citizen”. He is my age 68. It kind of jarred me a bit. I rarely if ever think of myself as a “senior citizen“. I honestly view myself as being old because I am not middle-aged anymore nor am I a teenager or a child. But it’s so strange that people my age are called that now. I finally got old enough to be called a “senior citizen.” I am often comically astonished to see entertainers that were once vibrant with youth only a few years older than I or my age and now they are these fat, white haired, or balding men. Once beautiful women have become quite chubby and looking the hard life they lived as the entertainers they were and still try to be at times. I feel like doing a double take when I see them. You son of a bitch you were not supposed to age how dare you? And then I see how so many die my age or younger, and it shakes me up a bit. You rockers were supposed to be immortal. Eternally young. I do feel good though when I see an entertainer, my age or near and think damn I look a hell of a lot better than they do. Mortality taps me on the shoulder when I see these old, senior citizen, rockers and entertainers my age or around it. It’s a good reason to own a treadmill to cut my calories to be more active and to study how to grow old and live as long as you fucking can.
Driving to the grocery store recently I noticed how much chatter there wasn’t in my mind. A good comparison came to mind of how much in our minds is like television, reruns, and commercials. OK I’ve seen that movie and TV show before let’s go for something original in my thoughts, or a break without commercial chatter. That idiocy that runs through the mind at times that I want to shut off. It’s a good analogy I find helpful when trying to meditate.
Speaking of meditation, I have found that I was getting impatient about it. Frustrated because I could not completely blank my mind. That’s not the point. You see things you hear things your mind look at them and let them go. It’s like people walking past you in a busy hallway. You can make the hallway less busy. Let them pass. Don’t fasten on the reruns or commercials chattering at me.
I see many videos on Reddit about the war in Ukraine. So many videos made with drones. It’s like a horrifying science fiction movie to see a drone drop grenades or bombs on vehicles and or troops below. I have become strangely immune desensitized to the horror of it. I don’t watch it for horror. It’s become abstract and grimly fascinating. The Russians are throwing masses of men at the Ukrainians. Massive amounts of vehicles and men. Men that are not equipped well, or given much training. They are ordered to go that way forward and if they go and retreat, they will be killed by others making sure they do not. There is an insanity to seeing fields that once grew food for the world now filled with broken burnt tanks and other vehicles, and the shrinking riding corpses of so many poor bastards that were innocence in Putin‘s madness. What helps is when I see the Ukrainians rescuing animals and having them as mascots or something or just giving some odd animal some food because I think that makes them feel more human with all the horror around them.
Finally, I’ve realized there is a very young person inside me. I am amused with myself how a voice will yell about saying breasts and oh what a nice body on that woman. I guess that when you get old you called a Letcher if you admit to such, but I find it amusing and heartening that such a spark is still glowing, so brightly in me. My mind seeks out new music. I’m not the old fart. My parents were because I can appreciate the music of younger people and not get stuck in listening to the same old shit I grew up on. In the mornings, the youngster and me will often rise put on headphones and play the latest new group to me. My limbs will jump awkwardly and I will have sing at times. I can laugh at myself, but also feel good, because even though I am considered a senior citizen, I am a damn young one at that.