You have seen the motto of my life (and, therefore, my blog):

I do not intend to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death.

I saw that on a tee shirt once.  It stuck in my mind as much as the beautiful man who wore it.  One might even suggest that lust was as much a factor in remembering the quote as was the philisophical implications of what it said.  Regardless, it stuck in my mind and began to wedge its way into the very core of my being, rapidly becoming the axoim by which I try to live.

To me anyway, it seems rather obvious to comprehend the implications of spending our days limiting our life so that we might live longer.  In that the end result is the same regardless of how you live, what then prohibits one from living?  I mean truly living and getting through life sans regrets, focusing on the pleasures this world has to offer one willing to avail himself or herself of their opportunities?  This is not a selfish point of view, mind you, but is instead an approach to living whereby one admits that there are no guarantees in life and postponing experiences in lieu of promises to come ultimately leaves our pockets, minds and hearts lacking.

I found great joy in seeing an e-mail from Wayne yesterday.  Read this not as a simple mention of how much he means to me, but instead realize that it was as welcome a touch from a dear friend as it was the amazingly insightful and appropriate paraphrasing of the course I set for my life.

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways — Chardonnay in one hand, chocolate in the other, body thoroughly used up — totally worn out and screaming, “Whoo, what a ride!”

How true that is.  How many people deny themselves whatever satisfaction there may be in life because they feel that such resistance to happiness will somehow result in everlasting joy?  What percentage of the human population refuses desires with hopes the sacrifices ensure salvation and longevity?  What point is there in playing it safe when death is still the final guest we all must entertain?

Personally, I wish no such thing related to living a long life wherein the final decades find me increasingly unable to care for myself, physically drained of the ability to survive on my own, and mentally degrading into senility.  Do I really want to live 90-100 years through careful and limited exposure to life?  Or, would I rather live 70-80 years and reach the end having lived fully by enjoying all the world has to offer?  If the end result is always the same, then it’s the journey that counts.  Why not make the most of it?

I have been remiss in keeping up with my friends & family.  Too much of my time falls prey to paying the bills (i.e., working).  It is for that reason that I missed Wayne’s birthday, I see Rick only a fraction of the time to which both he and I are accustomed, Jenny’s recent job move has meant even fewer opportunities to communicate with her on a regular basis, my ability to see xocobra and LD has been reduced to the bare minimum while also interfering with finding the few minutes necessary to even talk to them via telephone, and the list goes on.

There exists no greater truth than for me to say that the act of survival now directly interferes with the act of living.  Nothing fails to minimize the alarming veracity of that simple fact.  The world as a whole continues to demand more and more of us, and we in response spend less time living and more time surviving.  We work to save for retirement and to keep ourselves alive, to pay the bills and to put food on the table, to keep a roof over our heads and to ensure our own health, yet we ultimately spend more time planning and plotting and less time actually doing and going.  We get to retirement only to find we’re barely able to survive on the limited income available to us and spend the final years before death being just as miserable as we were on the path that brought us there.

Are the regrets sufficient unto themselves?  Is spending our final years bitter and lacking the energy and strength to take the risks we ignored earlier in life satisfying of our need to live?  To really live?  How much happiness do we sacrifice today in the hopes of regaining it tomorrow?  What damage throughout life is cast upon our joy, forever denying us true satisfaction in life?

I wonder, and more importantly I wonder if it’s all worth it.