I Have Something to Say
January 20, 2022 — Just another day for most people. The Thursday after a Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend (if you were lucky enough to get it off). I bet a lot of people were already thinking about weekend plans—maybe the upcoming NFL playoff games. I’m pretty sure I was looking at the slate myself.
People often talk about days of firsts, but rarely about the days of lasts. The finality of “lasts” lacks the hope and optimism most people like to convey. When I think of this day, I look back at all the routine movements and activities I’d done for years without a second thought. Even as you get older, you don’t really think about “lasts,” especially in your forties. Are you slowing down? Sure. Are there health concerns and aging things you have to deal with? Most people have some—but not like this day.
Someone I’ve come to appreciate more as I’ve gotten older is Bruce Springsteen. His lyrics aren’t whimsical; they’re like New Jersey—direct and to the point, mixed with lyrical poetry. I’ve thought a lot about that day early in 2022, and it reminds me of lines from Bruce’s masterpiece, “The River.” The song is about young love and the trappings and pitfalls that can come with one mistake. In one moment, your life is never the same.
Then I got Mary pregnant and man that was all she wrote and for my nineteenth birthday I got a union and card wedding card. We went down to the courthouse and the judge put it all to rest. No wedding day smiles. No walk down the aisle. No flowers. No wedding dress.
In my case, I got up from my desk. The room started spinning. A massive headache hit—one that would last for weeks—and I was dizzy. Suddenly: no more job. No more driving. No more events with a lot of people. No more going to the grocery store—any store. It took me over a year to make it to a restaurant, and even then I needed earplugs because most places are too loud for me. No more stopping at Starbucks on the way to work. No more living life without being constantly dizzy. I needed a walking stick to get around. No more thinking about retirement and preparing for it financially—it was here, right now, at age 47. No more daily interaction or camaraderie with people. I can go days, even weeks, without being farther than 10 miles from my house.
I watch the world go by from my couch in the living room. My window to the outside world is my TV, computer, and smartphone. Do I talk to people? Yeah—my wife, my dog, and some neighbors. I text friends and sometimes call them. My parents call from Arizona two or three times a week. What I really miss is the interaction with co-workers in the break room or during the workday. I really miss my world in sports broadcasting. There are a lot of things my wife and dog don’t really want to talk about—or even care about—and that’s okay. But I miss it.
That’s why I’m doing this. I have things to say—from my couch, or lying on my pillow during a migraine, or on the days I just don’t feel good. This is where I’m going to say the things I don’t have any other place to say. I hope you’ll take the ride with me.
I have something to say.