Notes from Maine - 2021/08/01
Thirty minutes is all I ask. After feed the dogs breakfast, the only thing they want to do is run around like monsters, knocking things over and chasing through the house. Albert (7 month old German Shepherd) would be happy to gallop down the halls any time. Finn (8 year old Mastiff) only gets excited to play maybe fifty-percent of the day. All I ask is that they stay calm for thirty minutes after they eat, just to let things settle. They ate nine minutes ago and Finn is chasing his tail while Albert tries to bite Finn’s feet. Thirty minutes is all I ask.
Talking to my friend the other day, he lamented his lack of excitement. I knew exactly what he meant when he said, “I just don’t get excited for anything anymore. I just go from one thing to the next.” I knew precisely what he meant. It’s so easy to remember being excited for, or anxious about, something (Christmas morning, a test at school, or standing on the high dive). My heart would flutter and then pound. My chest would tighten, and it felt like I could barley take in a deep breath.
In retrospect, maybe I simply had an undiagnosed heart condition when I was younger.
That looming excitement turned waiting into pure agony.
Waiting is no longer an issue. I’m an expert at waiting. Standing in line, I’ll let my eyes close a little and I will allow my mind wander to pure insanity. So, on the downside, it’s impossible to get really excited. On the plus side, because I know that excitement is dead, I don’t mind standing around and doing nothing.
An old friend might say, “Hey, I’m going to be in town on Friday. Maybe we can go out to dinner and catch up.”
I’ll say, “Yeah, that sounds great. Give me a shout on the day and we’ll figure out where and when.”
Then, maybe a day or two before, they say, “Plans changed. Turns out I can’t make it.”
“That’s a bummer. Miss you! Keep me in mind next time,” I say.
This is something that actually happened and it was a person who I genuinely enjoy spending time with. But, honestly, I felt nothing. I felt no joy at the prospect of having dinner with an old friend, and I felt no regret when the appointment was cancelled. I have come to accept this as normal. And, the more I think about it, I believe that this diminishing excitement is a common symptom of getting older.
I wonder why.
Just now, I had to step away from my computer. While the dogs went out, I read a message thread on my phone. The thread was titled, “Make-A-Wish employees, what was the strangest wish a kid asked for and actually received?”
I only remember one wish that I read. A kid wanted to “Smell the breath of a sea lion.” The child had heard that the breath of a sea lion was the worst thing in the world. After being granted their wish, the kid proceeded to vomit.
I don’t remember the other wishes because I kept picturing the kids asking for them. One had leukemia, and another a heart issue. I read about a child who had brain surgery to prevent seizures. The surgery was “successful” but the child suffered mental problems after.
Thinking about those kids put things in perspective.
Obviously, there are worse things than not being excited. Peaks of emotion erode with age. Hopefully the valleys fill in with that runoff. I am completely excited about one thing this morning—I’ve never had to smell the breath of a sea lion.
