Nicolas Tesla had obsessed over numerology, specifically the number 3. This past week, life had thrown 3 challenges my way, a radiator leak, my cat not leaking (i.e. urinary blockage) and a reoccurrence of anemia. With Tesla’s obsession passing through my mind, my car headlights had illuminated 333 on a mailbox while driving at dawn to the gym. I had believed in coincidences before, on the verge of turning 42, maybe not. Recalling my father’s passing at age 65, I had surmised doing good health wise with my birthday around the corner; however, the anemia had really caught me off-guard. All I can say, I hope you never had known the sensation of blood pumping into the capillaries of your fingers, straining to maintain adequate oxygen flow. Luckily, leveraging most of my tricks in my health playbook, I had avoided missing the first part of scuba class this past weekend. An appearance in class of being intellectually daft, I had concluded unflattering but, small penance for staying on task.
Last night, I had reflected that staying at my desk last week, unwise. Yet somehow, I had rationalized subconsciously, nothing more romantic and honorable than dying at your post. Perhaps, Star Trek and my dad’s service in the military had communicated that idea to me in one medium or another. So today, I had read some intriguing job openings at work. Interested yet, in light of recent events, I had quickly dispensed with those ideas, in lieu of sticking to a plan towards personal endeavors.
The reality, if reading this and a US citizen, more than likely, you had slim chance of retiring by age 65, more like 80. With an inevitable budget crisis, corporate welfare (i.e. oil subsidies, etc.), maybe a war for good measure, I had deduced an inevitable hard correction for the Dow Jones. All the above had reinforced avoiding staying at work. So, I had requested for some last minute time off. In earnest, I had wanted to catch up on lost time for some Padi Scuba studying. I had chosen to embody the tattoo on my right arm, a star with the letter M inside. It had served as reminder putting myself, yourself first. Nothing in this life had offered the ability to undo regret. Again, recalling my father, I had wanted to leave you with that idea and a country tune from Tim McGraw, “Live Like You Were Dying.”