One morning several weeks ago, I arrived at a public fishing area in the southern Adirondacks only to discover that it was over-run by a large S.W.A.T. team in full tactical gear that had just stormed a residential property up the road. The parking lot was simply its staging ground from whence the assault launched. But as I watched the team put away their AR-15s and other ordnance, I reflexively mused how dull my line of work seemed and what I would give to have a job – one upholding truth, justice, and the American Way when all around things run amok – that places me at risk of developing a light case of PTSD.
If I could only dismiss the moment described above as a one-off. I mean as a fly-fishing guide, what’s not to like? Yet, at least since the start of my career as a chemistry professor, the pattern has been one of countless mornings and evenings that I awake and fall asleep thinking, “There’s got to be more.”
Stevie Stories
In truth, this restlessness has been my longstanding companion, existing even when I was a youngster, which generated a lot of trouble for me in school and other settings. Moreover, it left my poor father totally at a loss. For he strongly disliked entropy in life. My mother, in contrast, handled it much better. Acting on the advice of my Grandfather Jones, she adopted a two-pronged approach of, firstly, keeping me on a short leash and, secondly, seeking to direct that restlessness to constructive ends. Funny, her side of the family – the Jones gang – actually derived entertainment from my antics, which they called ‘Stevie Stories.’ Two individuals in particular (Cousin Liz and Big Mike) might have even archived a greatest hits compilation of those yarns just for laughs.
Well, the reality is that, whether it be socially or occupationally or situationally, only once in my life was it ever different. There actually was one in whose presence I always was fully content – when restlessness was as existentially remote as the east is from the west. The power over me back then, I scarcely can fathom it. But otherwise, restlessness has never relinquished its grip.
Although what was it that Benjamin Franklin once said? He said many things, I know. But I believe it more or less went like this: If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, then either write things worth reading or do things worth the writing.
Franklin has a point. If it’s true, (and I think it is), then restlessness offers something to the World inasmuch as it searches for that which is great and substantial, but only if it has a constructive outlet and is subsequently put to use. The current problem for me, however, is that there’s little chance that I’ll secure a line of work defending society against nefarious agents. For I’m 58-ans. My age is a real barrier-to-entry.
An Anecdote
Now, if you follow boxing, then you’ll know it’s quite remarkable that Oleksandr Usyk, at 39-ans, is currently the undisputed World Heavyweight Champion, and that George Foreman became the WBA and IBF World Heavyweight Champion back in 1994 when he was 45-ans. Because the average man’s punching power and hand speed begins to wane when he’s about 35-ans. In other words, being full of vim and vigor is usually a relatively brief phenomenon. It is for this reason that I am often a Cassandra with respect to my fellow XYs.
Gentlemen, we’ve roughly a 15-year interval of peak physicality before we begin waning. Therefore, do your level best to hold onto what you got. It’s one more reason to go full MAHA (Make America Healthy Again), and that also includes rejecting recreational and even broadly prescribed medicinal cannabis. It’s not just that weed hyper-ages the brain. It delivers a host of deleterious effects that should concern any man who takes himself seriously (See A Ghillie’s Four-Twenty Argument.). Of course, there are other items besides cannabis to address and/or re-evaluate, too. But I strongly implore you to adopt best practices regarding your manner of living.
A Second Option
Returning now to my dilemma, the point is that I’m too old for any line of work that is so involved with defending society when all around things run amok – and thus so thrilling – that I risk developing a mild case of PTSD. Naturally, that makes it harder to impress the girl. I mean is there anything else under the Sun more important? I’m obviously asking a rhetorical question. Yet, I trust you understand.
Well, the good thing is that there’s a second option available to me – an action-oriented endeavor offered by fieldsports that places a man exactly where things often do, in fact, run amok. It’s dangerous game hunting. Such is the subject of the next dispatch, Most Interesting Men, and so stay tuned. Until then, you should spend more time hitting the speed bag. Make your mother proud!