I always feel so betrayed when something goes wrong with my body, as there is today. (Apparently, I’ve got a bum gallbladder.)
I guess I walk around with the unspoken belief that I’m in charge of my somatic being, not to mention the events surrounding my life. Perhaps part of it is that I don’t believe in God. It’s not my fault. I was raised by scientists who taught me to be skeptical and not to believe what cannot be proven (or disproven, for that matter). Although I’m open to evidence to the contrary, my atheism often misleads me into believing that I’m somehow driving this bus.
Why do I forget the fragility and ephemeral nature of human life—not to mention the fact that when you are not convinced that the course of your life is determined, you are left to conclude that circumstance is at least 50% dumb luck, or lack thereof? (Ironically, I believe myself lucky–another factor that can never be proven or disproven.)
But I digress. When things in my body go wrong, I’m forced to remember that other forces besides my will are at play. And frankly, I don’t like it a bit. Maybe that same defiant nature contributes to my atheism. I seem to somehow arrogantly insist that I’m in control. And then—bam!—a stupid reminder that I’m just a pawn in the random order of the universe.
That’s the theme of my day today: once again shocked by my own humanity and mortality….which makes it impossible to forget the fact that, like the soap opera says, “like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” (Chuckle. As they say, effective clichés get their start by virtue of their universal truths.)
Without fate to rely on, I can be assured only of the eventuality of my own death. I’ll try to be ok with that. After all, there’s really no other choice.