Here’s my 7 year-old son and me, right before he started second grade. I’m 51, so you could say I showed up late to the Dad game.
I’ve never suffered from any standard old-dad anxieties. I couldn’t care less if I’m the oldest Dad at the park or get mistaken for Grandpa. I’d rather be a Jacked Gramps than a Fat Dad any day.
But one philosophical question that’s bothered me on occasion has been, “Will I have enough time?”
Will I be around long enough to pass along what I’ve learned to my son, to help him become a healthy, productive, good man? Or will my run end before that work is done?
In terms of longevity factors, some key ones like genetics and luck are beyond our control. But for stuff we can control, I hit the big rocks:
I eat well, exercise a lot, don’t smoke, barely drink, wear my seat belt, get regular blood work, and avoid most discretionary stress and stupidity like reading Instagram comments or exploring shipwrecks in a home-made submarine.
But beyond that, all those minutiae habits and hacks that supposedly lead to “life extension?” I tend to skip them.
Because even if something MIGHT add years to my life, if it also doesn’t add LIFE to my YEARS, then the juice ain’t worth the squeeze. Extreme calorie restriction, losing muscle, and going 100% plant-based might add a year or two to my odometer, but if those extra years are spent being small, hungry, grumpy, impotent, and annoying at parties then count me out.
I’d rather just condense more living into the years I hope to already have. I may have started Dad-life late and have a lot of catching up to do, but that’s no reason to start driving in the slow lane.
On the contrary, I see it as a green light to step on the gas. Just please, fasten your seatbelt.
– Coach Bryan