My Father's Gun

I have a zest for life people. I take as much pleasure as I can out of absolutely everything. There are a number of reasons for this.

One of the reasons is that I'm prone to drastic shifts in my perception of the world around me. The same job, the same town, the same people that I may have once loved, I will suddenly find myself loathing and despising. I'll go through periods where I can't see anything positive no matter how much effort I make.

So when I'm able to, I really push hard to enjoy things to the utmost, and save that sensation for the times when the blackness comes down.

I think however that the majority of my enthusiasm for life comes from my father. My Dad is an extraordinarily carefree person. I've only seen him ruffled once in my life, and that was at the end of a $14,000 losing streak playing the ponies back in the old country.
Here's the thing.
My dad was in a horrible and hideous train wreck shortly after he'd served in the Korean War. In a very short time span, he saw an awful lot of death and inhumanity.

He doesn't talk about the train wreck much. Someone in the family once told me that all they knew about his experience was that he'd been in the wreck, and had held on to a little 3 year old boy who's father had been killed beside him until rescuers arrived. Then he stayed around to help with recovery and first aid for another 3 days.

All he's ever said to me about it was once while discussing the topic of worrying. "I stopped worrying about anything after that train crash."

My father values every day, and every moment in every day. It's an attitude that except for the occassional (and increasingly rare) bio-chemical swing, I tend to share. Unfortunately, I think I take it too far.

I treasure each moment to the point that I feel cheated whenever circumstances such as employment or familial obligations force me to surrender my freedom. Any relinquishing of personal autonomy leaves me feeling as if my very life is being taken from me, moment by moment and I'm tremendously resentful. I begin to feel seconds slipping away from me, and start to become concerned that on my deathbed I'll be tremendously remorseful about not having gone for more walks in the park, etc.

Which brings me to my final point, and the inspiration for me to write tonight. I run and bike a lot. In my latest copy of Runner's World magazine, it lists 10 Motivators, and draws from a variety of people for their best motivational tips. One of them says that she has posted in her home, "Run today, because one day you won't be able to."
That same thinking, taken to utter extremes, is at the root of a lot of my craziness.
My fear that tomorrow I'll regret having wasted today makes me want to do nothing more than spend each and every day doing nothing but fun things.
Immature and silly, yes, I know. But what's a guy to do?