The Coming End of Things

The cracks are beginning to show. I told my mom, a week ago, that I felt old, by which I meant that my body isn't bouncing back as easily as before. I'm more tired, more derailed by illness, less able to power through minor physical setbacks as before. It's a concerning trend for the future. No one ever gets younger. And all those old insults to one's health, previous injuries and illnesses, accumulate into a metaphorical heap as old habits solidly ossify into truly bad routines. 

I try to keep my spirit up. I can't afford to mentally berate myself all day like in the past. For one, I know better. With age comes wisdom and all that. Too many in our culture want to interpret tyranny and oppression as our personal failure. Things we believe are in our control and therefore our fault aren't really. Lack of support, lack of assistance, outright manipulation and lies shape our realities. We're too individualistic to see it, and therefore, we conclude we've "failed" when we can't or don't achieve what we could have. In reality, society failed us.

I don't have a safety net, and the good graces of life that currently support me won't last forever. I say prayers, try to change behaviors for the better, but I worry I will be lost to the troubles when the shoe drops. I let too many years go by doing nothing but cultivating fears. I lack knowledge of the future. I want to prepare for it, but it may be too late. The future will be here before I am ready. If only decency in living expenses prevailed. If only we all truly believed every single human being was worth investing time and money in. If only we all had the same chances. The homeless scare me, not because I believe them to be especially violent or deranged, but because their presence, their tents along the road, remind me that I might one day be trying to scrabble a life of dignity and rude shelter as well.