what's the optimal amount to contemplate your own mortality
A few nights ago, I was waiting for my Lyft outside when I heard a small repeated clicking sound and felt something small hit me, possibly from a car that had driven by. I didn't (and still don't) know what it was. Unluckily placed gravel, kicked up by the tires? BB pellets fired by a passenger who happened to crave mild meaningless violence that night, or who was far too young to understand the consequences?
I thought about it and realized there was basically nothing to be done about it. Maybe if I had recorded a license plate, but even then. I wasn't hurt. Life goes on.
In spite of this conclusion, I thought about it a bit more. That's normal, right? Just because it's a mystery that will probably never get resolved, not because part of me wonders, what if it had been a real gun? Maybe a little bit because that? Incredibly unlikely, of course, and in any case I'm allowed to think fleeting thoughts.
I marched in the local pride parade, as one does, and considered briefly what would happen if some crazy shooter showed up and I was very unlucky. How the local news might describe me; what the ramifications, political or otherwise, might be if they synthesized my presence there, my background, my job, maybe even this blog. Especially, if I had published this thought beforehand, which I hadn't.
Hm. Realistically, not much.
I had a small headache today. 1 out of 10 on a pain scale. Easily explained by me not having slept well the previous night, plus a few other small stressors I won't air publicly. Still. It could be something else.
just checking in again, then. would I have any regrets?
so if this flight should end in tears
please tell my kids I felt no fear
and tell them that the smoke will clear
and tell them I didn't spill a drop of beer
if my time is up and this plane goes down