SPRINTER OF MARATHON RUNNER?
Just A Matter Of Style...
Just A Matter Of Style...
So my yoga instructor told me all about being moderate. Not wasting energy. Saving it, spreading it evenly throughout life. After all, we just come here with a certain amount to spend, he says. It’s all about checks and balances, like everything else in this world. You spend too much of it, your candle burns out more quickly. You check out earlier. But if you manage your energy appropriately, you might last a few more years, while still keeping a decent quality of life.
Hard as I tried, I just couldn’t see things his way. I happen to be a passionate person. One of those. What he would have called a sprinter, rather than a long-distance runner. Talking about spending lots of energy indiscriminatingly? That’s me. Funny enough, that contrasts with my otherwise very frugal personality. I’m not a big spender; I don’t have to own nice, expensive things. I’m very methodic and organized, and use my time efficiently. I also enjoy sitting quietly and reading for hours. I (try to) practice meditation. Etc. However, there are things which bring me a lot of pleasure, and I do pour lots of time and energy into them whenever I have a chance. For instance, I love dancing, eating, making love. I thoroughly enjoy things that touch my deepest recesses through my senses. I relish in them. With the appropriate amount of ingrained Catholic guilt, naturally. But I do savor them to a fault. Since the year I turned 40, however, I have sometimes questioned the wisdom of my impulsiveness. After all, I can’t survive my excesses as well as I used to. I do feel the effects of time. If I dance all night, for example, I’d better have a couple of days for my poor joints to recover afterwards (crossing fingers that I won’t have a sciatica crisis). And talk about your dark circles and puffy eyes. And don’t get me started on the food. There is no question that I can’t wear those extra pounds as firmly as I used to, or shed them as easily, either. As a matter of fact, they seem to be constantly hanging down my butt and thighs and folding over my knees, as if trying to reach the ground. My latest desperate act to try to fight such merciless effects of the gravity laws was to buy a stepper. At least I was smart enough not to pay full price for it. I went to one of those second-hand places, and bought a practically brand new one which someone (probably another desperate but lazy soul, just like me) decided to re-sell after having stuck it at the bedroom corner for a while. And that’s probably where it will end up again. Vertical Divider
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And what about other appetites, you wonder? ’Cause I know you’re wondering. Well, supposing you still are willing and capable of having sex often as you get older, just try to get your partner to keep up. Married or not married, it’s all the same. In the beginning it’s all good; then it starts slowing down, and eventually it will cease all together. And even if you are lucky enough to find someone who can keep it going without having to risk a heart attack or blue vision, your own body starts paying the price for those long, strenuous session of love-making (by that, understand anything longer than 10 minutes).
But even with older age starting to creep in, and the lack of cooperation I’m beginning to get from my body (which means that I eventually will have to start paying more attention to its complaints) I still enjoy living life to the fullest, as much as I possibly can. Living moderately, with the hopes of keeping my quality of life and living longer? Well, let me tell you about quality of life. What good will it do me if I am still lucid and active while I’m are waiting to die at an assisted-living facility? Having outlived friends and family, and not knowing anybody around me who can keep up? Is excess ALWAYS wrong? I mean, isn’t there ever an exception, a situation or circumstance when excess is acceptable? Does the same hold true for everybody? Is it bad to be too happy, feel too much pleasure, indulge in your senses too much? According to my yoga teacher, yes. This is just you trying to find pleasure outside of your own self to fill the deep void inside. But I happen to think that the outside pleasures are gifts from God to help us cope with life’s struggles. And we do come here in physical bodies, don’t we? Which happen to like to eat and have sex and do extreme sports and dance all night, etc. As far as I’m concerned, they are part of the deal we made upstairs when we decided to come down here. Ok, I’m going, but I’m sure gonna have me lots of good sex while I’m down there. And so forth. My teacher also said that some monks practice complete abstinence of sex, so that they can keep their energies flowing within themselves, and not going outward, to someone else. Well, I think that’s mighty selfish of them. I, on the other hand, believe that as good samaritans we should always be charitable. Distribute. Share. And if that includes the energy I spend with the person I’m having sex with, by George, so be it! Why hoard, why accumulate, when you can give? Give, and you shall receive. In second place, I always found it hypocritical for monks who live their isolated, uncomplicated, perfect little lives up in the mountains and who never have to deal with the daily strife that most of us can’t escape from, to become gurus and dictate how we, the mere mortals down here, should live our imperfect lives… Come down here and we can talk! I happen to believe it’s all a matter of different styles, different choices. So, I’m a sprinter. And I’m willing to pay the price. I’d rather have a glorious but short run to the finish line than be part of a long, boring, endless marathon. To life, and to the fullest! ©2002 Gisele Marasca 10/10/02 |