I’m proud of my wife. This isn’t an effort to win points in some imaginary husband contest or to impress the Internet with how thoughtful I am. There is no scoreboard in a relationship and if there is, you should probably run away from that situation with haste.
No, I’m just stating a fact. I’m proud of her intelligence and grace under pressure. Her gentle touch when handling problems. And of course, her ability to navigate the uneasy waters of chronic illness.
I myself am a less reliable captain of my own vessel. I have a tendency to lose focus and drift off course. I find myself making questionable choices in the face of difficulty or simply serving as an unreliable narrator in my own story.
I for example rarely know what day it is without looking it up and I’ve always struggled with remembering the current year. That was frequently a situation in the before times. I suspect it’s a permanent state for me now after nearly two years of pandemic life.
There are also my semi-frequent excuses which can easily lead to a trend of bad behavior.
‘I can eat this. I can drink that. It doesn’t matter I’m screwed either way.’
This is a comfortable mindset to fall into when burdened by the weight of genetics.
My family history strongly suggests that I’ll either live to be ancient and lose all mental faculties during my waning years, or—and this is more likely—go out due to heart disease just about the time I’m eligible to collect social security payments.
Given that, it’s not hard at all to throw my hands in the air and do whatever I like.
Except it’s not quite that simple.
I have a great wife and plenty of family who care about me, even if it feels like it’s getting smaller as the years go by. At the risk of sounding full of myself, the world is unquestionably better with me in it and I can line up dozens of witnesses to attest to that your honor.
I’ve thought about this quite a bit recently after a death in my family and another on my wife’s side of things. It’s true that we can’t outrun genetics or consume some magic elixir to cure what ails us. We do however have the ability to take control of the things that are in our power to control.
Whether it’s getting some more exercise or just showing a little restraint in our diets, there are plenty of choices we can make daily to improve our standing in the cosmic calculus of life and death.
This is not however a call to action to live a clean and virtuous life. That friends is for suckers.
Take some chances, indulge yourself every now and then. Eat some cake, have too many drinks, spend an entire weekend without putting on real pants or leaving the couch. Life without these things mixed in once in a while isn’t the rich tapestry we deserve.
All work and no play makes Jack a real dull bastard, ya know?
The turning of the calendar into a new year can be a daunting time to make changes. I hate it myself, partly because it’s an extraordinary cliche. Like Ben Gibbard once said:
So this is the new year. And I have no resolution. It’s self-assigned penance. For problems with easy solutions.”
Death Cab For Cutie
It also bothers me because it puts too much pressure on the person making an effort. The weight of genetics is a heavy burden to carry but so too is the weight of a New Year’s resolution. So maybe just don’t do that.
Try and take it as things come and say to yourself, “It’s another year that I won’t remember on a daily basis. Maybe I won’t take that personally. I’ll just try and do better when I can.”
It’s a modest beginning but sometimes the best ones are just that.

