Relativity

It's an absolutely beautiful day.  I should feel blessed.  But I do not.  And the fact that I'm not feeling blessed is kind of grating in and of itself, because the air is cool and the sky is blue and it's fall.  I wish I could be like my dog, who is sprawled out on some wood chips in the sun with his junk in the air doing some version of dog yoga and looking more relaxed than anything that wears a chain around it's neck has any right to be.
I'm thinking about my car, and how I want a new one.  I'm thinking about the camper I wish wasn't sitting in my driveway, I'm thinking about the gutters that need cleaned and how I don't have a ladder that will reach them.  I'm thinking about the moment yesterday when my brakes went out and almost sent me careening through a red light and into turning traffic, and how, thankfully they locked up just in time to prevent a bad thing and just end up with a stupid moment, and how now the car is telling me to service brakes and I'm like: "Duh."
I'm hoping to be able to fix the brakes and get a few more miles out of the beast before I inevitably trade it in, but I'm hoping (with futility I suspect) that the repair bill will be less than a down payment on a new car.
And sometimes I think it would be nice to just start walking and never stop.
It's moments like this that make the ancient ascetics seem like sensible people.  Because, for all the comforts that can be bought and paid for in the modern world, there is a price to be paid.  And the price seems sometimes like it's not really worth it, when I consider that, on a day like today, thousands of years ago, a nomad probably sat on a rock watching his sheep or goats or whatever and felt the same sort of existential crap that I feel right now.  I don't imagine that he was somehow happier, he was just worried about different stuff.
I'm quite certain that this is a spiritual affliction: to be able to notice and appreciate all the things you should definitely be grateful for, and not be able to feel gratitude, because at one particular moment the things you're worried about outweigh the things you love.
To add to the malaise, I had a doctor appointment yesterday morning and found out that all my "numbers," the things that science uses as health metrics, are going the wrong direction.  Another lovely predicament of the modern world!  We don't judge health by how we feel or what we're able to do, but by blood tests and measurements.  When I climb to the top of a hill and look out at the world, I feel healthy, when I climb on to a scale and look at one of my numbers I feel like a lump of bacon grease.
My doctor gives me these pep talks and instructions and ideas, but the poor guy doesn't understand that I know what I'm supposed to do, it's really just a matter of convincing my stomach to cooperate.  He's wasting his time, and mine with these little lectures, because it's not a matter of knowing what to do, it's a matter of willpower and discipline to do it.
I know I should be glad about a lot of things: that I live in a time and place where it's possible and indeed quite easy, to overeat, that I live in a time and place where I can have a nice doctor look at a bunch of blood test results and recommend some medicines to help me strengthen my grip on mortality.  And deep down inside, a little voice says: "what kind of fool wants to live for 90 years without bacon and cherry pie?"  And I know that little voice is going to win eventually, because it makes sense in a way that my nice, encouraging and sensible doctor never will.
Knowledge of all the things that are probably going to kill me does not make me happy, any more than that "service brake system" light on my car's dashboard does.
I think this is why we have such problems imagining that eternity is going to involve some sort of embodiment, because bodies, like machines, break down, and when things break down it makes us unhappy, and no one wants to imagine an eternity of unhappiness.
This is one of the reasons why I think it's so important to cultivate faith and learn to live in God's universe, because if eternal life is a real thing, then I'm going to need some coping mechanisms.  If the atheists are right and it all just ends then there really isn't that much of a reason to struggle, because, when it's done it's done, and I can deal with that okay as well.  It's only if it goes on that I need to think about what is making it go on.  It's only if there is more to be done when we shuffle off the mortal coil that makes struggling for gratitude seem like a worthwhile effort.
Enjoy!