When I was a kid, colds were an annoyance, nothing more. I didn’t see them in a catastrophic context largely because I was immortal.

But over the years I’ve learned that immortality is just borrowed time.

Eventually, it goes back to its owner and you’re on your own.

Now when I get sick, I assume the worst.

Last week I had a “mutated – and incurable – strain of the flu.” Or was it pneumonia? Or meningitis? Or something unknown to modern science?

The shoe eventually drops.

Okay, so there are a lot of false starts before something major happens, but the longer you wait the closer it gets.

In the meantime, I just got a realty-check that all the working out and healthy eating and hydration and rest and recovery and everything else aren’t enough to annihilate the inevitable.

Needless to say, as we age the days ahead of us are more precious than they used to be.

If we open our eyes in the morning it’s another good day, no matter what the hell it feels like.

It’s a weird way to live, honestly, but we all learn to appreciate what we once took for granted.

If you look at older people from this perspective, you begin to understand why everything we say and do somehow relates back to something we had or did no matter what comes out of our mouths.