I grew up a pretty lucky person, in the country. This entails a lot of outdoor activity and a lot of hard living, because kids growing up in the country have to make there own fun. This “fun” usually involved a very high risk of bodily harm and with every birthday the risk of injury grows exponentially. Imagine a boy with 500 acres of land, a 4x4 jeep, a tractor, alcohol, and, of course, firearms. This situation was usually compounded by the presents of peer pressure from about 3 or 4 other teenage boys. Now, what our parents were thinking letting us have this type of freedom, I don’t know, but it was real easy to be unsupervised in this much space.
As one can imagine I got hurt a lot. I was involved in 5 vehicle wrecks – one of which made my truck look like a compacted beer can. I was involved in one accidental shooting, three dislocated joints, a sum total of about 45 stitches, and a year and a half of continuous physical therapy over the course of 5 years. This laundry list does not include all the vehicles, tractors, and 4 wheelers I screwed up over that period. One would think I would have a pretty good understanding of mortality, but you would be wrong. I thought I was immortal.
For the most part, I still act and think like I am immortal. My mortality only comes to the surface on rare occasions when I mentally or psychically look death in the face. As I was in the middle of one of these gaps in immortality this past week, I realized how much I take life for granted. But I am not sure if functionally you can live any other way than to take life for granted. What would a modern day life look like that had a healthy balance of mortality and immortality?