Little Miseries

Some people get a lot of satisfaction out of having several maladies they can blame for not doing this, that, or the other dietary or exercise discipline that might be, if not actually lifesaving, at least somewhat beneficial. They would rather tolerate the miseries (real or imagined) of these maladies than to do whatever it might take to get themselves healthy.

For them, getting healthy is presumed to be “out of the question,” and would imply that they no longer need the crutches of their little miseries. And, sometimes, the crutch is more important to them than the reason for using it, and the behavior that invites it becomes hard-wired into the psyche.

It’s easy when one has these “little” ills to blame for any kind of stupid, intolerant, unkind, or just forgetful actions on: “…oh, my (ache, pain, problem) is acting up again today. I just don’t know half of what I’m doing or saying.” This is a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card for saying or doing whatever comes to mind that might be ill-mannered, aggressive, hurt others’ feelings, or piss off someone who is only trying to help. The little miseries are perfect foils for crabby cranks and grouches who don’t want to do whatever it might take to get really well and actually be responsible for themselves –- or their health –- for a change.

And, there really is a downside to this simple solution to their “excuse” quandary. By habituating to unhealthy behavior, they leave themselves wide open to serious physical problems later in life. These pecadilloes have a nasty way of coming back to get their revenge when we lease expect it. We might not think we are doing anything that is going to have long-term consequences, but abusing our bodies for years with habitual behaviors is going to cost us dearly in the long run.

Think you’re going to sit back and enjoy your retirement riding bikes on the beach and dancing under the stars? Not if you keep sticking those cancer-sticks in your face, or eating that daily brick-sized frosted cinnamon roll floating in melted margarine. The human body can only function for so long with this kind of abuse before beginning the slow, expensive, and painful process of disintegration and chronic, disastrous ill-health and death.

Of course we all die. Of COURSE. That’s not at issue here. But it is possible for us to make what years we have as healthy as we can by the simple care of our bodies. But, we commit the kinds of slow-motion suicide during our lifetimes that bring our demise on long before we should have to experience it. It isn’t a matter of not caring if we live forever. “It’s not the years in your life that’s important; it’s the life in your years.” I don’t know who said it, but they were right. If I can live to normal old age with only a minimum of pain, misery, and chronic illness, and all it’s going to cost me is the giving up of some of my habits, I’m going to try to everything I can to do so.

Of course, there are those who don’t care when or how they die. For base-jumpers, soldiers of fortune, and snake handlers, this is not a problem. But eating junk, drinking poisonous brews, or otherwise doing the kinds of destructive things that a lot of Americans do to their bodies is just as risky. Living on the edge can be as flamboyant as jumping off the Flaming Gorge bridge, or insisting on a synthetic, manipulated, manufactured diet. You can only keep it up for just so long. Thrillseeking is thrillseeking, with or without the adrenalin. Quite a price to pay for avoiding doing the right thing for one’s body.