Lighting Candles

Not many years ago, when I lived in Dallas, the first thing I did every morning was to take an extremely brisk walk—averaging between two and four miles long. When I first started my early morning walks, the distance was considerably less. As time wore on and my endurance grew, the distance increased. After I retired, four miles became my baseline. Some mornings, I demanded at least eight to ten miles from my legs and lungs. But I got lazy, opting on many mornings to shorten my walks or abandon them altogether. I knew, of course, my stamina would decline with the reduction in exercise, but I convinced myself I could recover it in short order when I decided the time was right. I did not know, though, when the time was right. Apparently, the right time was long before I decided to return to my morning habit…after moving to Hot Springs Village, where I replaced my territory of flat walking paths with slopes, inclines, and steep hills. Diagnoses of lung cancer, CPD, and other such maladies in the interim made the return to responsible exercise activities more and more difficult. Yesterday, I started a formal physical therapy regimen again. This time, its primary purposes are to add a little time and a little higher quality to my life. It won’t take long to determine whether I have the discipline and the drive to make it work. And, given what’s “doable” in light of the energy and effort necessary, I will learn whether the process is worth the effort any longer. I have returned to challenge the philosophical assertion I’ve written about so many times before: “Le jeu n’en vaut pas la chandelle.” The game is not worth the candle.

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Two very different environments compete for my desires: a bustling big city, its population and experiences and opportunities for entertainment and education colorful and diverse and; a soothingly quiet, almost empty, countryside that gives me isolation in nature and freedom from intrusive human noise. When I think hard about those competing desires, I have to acknowledge that I actually prefer circumstances that offer incremental opportunities for adjustments. I seek both ends of the spectrum, but I regularly feel the need for temporary check-points between them. Yet, if I could select only two realities, I would pick both ends. And if I had to select just one…it would be one that mimics where I spend most of my time now.  I need quiet more than I need noise…serenity and silence more than energy and excitement. I am more comfortable in nature than in crowds. But choice is important. Freedom—to the extent safe and accessible—to experience the breadth of where I am. And where I want to be.

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Another visit with the oncologist today; labs and an injection to control aspects of my blood supply important to the reasonable health of that crucial system. I have other obligations today, as well. Though I do not have any real interest in fulfilling them, keeping on top of them will make life easier and more physically and mentally comfortable.