I turn 57 this week. I'm at the stage of life where each birthday is not so much a cause for celebration, cake and presents, as a reminder of the passing of time.
My father lived to 77, so if this is any indication I might have about 20 years of life left. Of course I am healthier than my Dad. He smoked, and was overweight, and he died of heart failure. I don't smoke, am barely overweight, and ride my bike to stay fit. So perhaps I might live longer. Maybe I have 30 years.
Then again, my Mum was also much healthier than my Dad. She didn't smoke, and never carried an ounce of extra weight. But she was cut down by a brain tumour, and died at the age of 71. So who knows, perhaps I only have 14 years.
Perhaps next time I go for a ride I'll get cleaned up by a careless motorist and die on the spot.
No-one knows the day or hour of their death.
This might sound maudlin and a bit creepy, but I don't spend a lot of time worrying about it, to be honest. I have a good life, I'm happily married, I have two fantastic adult kids, two lovely kids-in-law, and two gorgeous grandkids. I have interesting and satisfying work to do. I have good friends. What will be, will be.
Still, as the clock ticks I'm more inclined to wonder if I'm using my time well. Is it a good use of my life to be writing policies and procedures for little organisations, or facilitating strategic planning sessions? Do those arguments about important issues on Facebook really amount to anything? Should I be getting my finger out and writing that book I keep talking about and running over in my head? And if so, which book?
The illusion of immortality is definitely wearing off.
Coincidentally, or serendipitously, this is the 500th post on Painting Fakes. Which I suppose is cause for some celebration, or reflection.
I could give you some stats. For instance, Blogger tells me that I have had 147,260 visits to the site since I started writing it in early 2008, although I don't really believe that statistic. A post I wrote in 2013 about the Newman Government's anti-bikie laws had over 4,000 reads thanks to a friend sharing it on a biker chat group. One I wrote just last year about naive charity had over 1,800 visitors after I shared it myself on my Linkedin page - something I don't do very often, given this is not a work blog. And a little piece I wrote in 2011 about how Aboriginal people were described in a pamphlet we were given on arrival in Australia back in 1967 has kept attracting readers, who now number almost 1,500. I am always surprised what gets readers and what doesn't.
I'm also often surprised that anyone reads it at all, so if you are reading this- Thanks! Other times, I wonder if the small number of people who do read it justifies the effort I put in. I don't have a word count, but I suspect the 500 posts between them probably equal about 5 books. Maybe if I had started with those books back in 2008 instead of frittering away 10 years here, I would now have five books in print.
Or maybe not. Time is an arrow which only moves in one direction. The clock ticks. 57 years. 20,819 days. 499,662 hours. 29,979,720 minutes. 1,798,983,200 seconds. 500 posts. No books so far. But in the year to come, who knows?
My father lived to 77, so if this is any indication I might have about 20 years of life left. Of course I am healthier than my Dad. He smoked, and was overweight, and he died of heart failure. I don't smoke, am barely overweight, and ride my bike to stay fit. So perhaps I might live longer. Maybe I have 30 years.Then again, my Mum was also much healthier than my Dad. She didn't smoke, and never carried an ounce of extra weight. But she was cut down by a brain tumour, and died at the age of 71. So who knows, perhaps I only have 14 years.
Perhaps next time I go for a ride I'll get cleaned up by a careless motorist and die on the spot.
No-one knows the day or hour of their death.
This might sound maudlin and a bit creepy, but I don't spend a lot of time worrying about it, to be honest. I have a good life, I'm happily married, I have two fantastic adult kids, two lovely kids-in-law, and two gorgeous grandkids. I have interesting and satisfying work to do. I have good friends. What will be, will be.
Still, as the clock ticks I'm more inclined to wonder if I'm using my time well. Is it a good use of my life to be writing policies and procedures for little organisations, or facilitating strategic planning sessions? Do those arguments about important issues on Facebook really amount to anything? Should I be getting my finger out and writing that book I keep talking about and running over in my head? And if so, which book?
The illusion of immortality is definitely wearing off.
Coincidentally, or serendipitously, this is the 500th post on Painting Fakes. Which I suppose is cause for some celebration, or reflection.
I could give you some stats. For instance, Blogger tells me that I have had 147,260 visits to the site since I started writing it in early 2008, although I don't really believe that statistic. A post I wrote in 2013 about the Newman Government's anti-bikie laws had over 4,000 reads thanks to a friend sharing it on a biker chat group. One I wrote just last year about naive charity had over 1,800 visitors after I shared it myself on my Linkedin page - something I don't do very often, given this is not a work blog. And a little piece I wrote in 2011 about how Aboriginal people were described in a pamphlet we were given on arrival in Australia back in 1967 has kept attracting readers, who now number almost 1,500. I am always surprised what gets readers and what doesn't.
I'm also often surprised that anyone reads it at all, so if you are reading this- Thanks! Other times, I wonder if the small number of people who do read it justifies the effort I put in. I don't have a word count, but I suspect the 500 posts between them probably equal about 5 books. Maybe if I had started with those books back in 2008 instead of frittering away 10 years here, I would now have five books in print.
Or maybe not. Time is an arrow which only moves in one direction. The clock ticks. 57 years. 20,819 days. 499,662 hours. 29,979,720 minutes. 1,798,983,200 seconds. 500 posts. No books so far. But in the year to come, who knows?
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