I am a future corpse.
Admittedly, a morbid-sounding observation. But it’s true. (It’s not the whole truth, but it’s part of it.)
And it matters. It matters to realize that I’m going to die some day, maybe today, or soon. It’s meaningful and important to realize that this body of mine is going to break down and give out some day, and in a single moment be rendered utterly lifeless.
To make it morbid-er, I’ve even imagined my wife having to identify my body. Or just standing by it and gazing at it. That could be today, you know. Or soon. I’ve imagined the scene: she’s forced to look upon my naked, lifeless body on a slab or a gurney, my soul having gone to God, so that just a repugnant, unmoving, unresponsive corpse is left.
What would she see? What would she notice?
Here, I’ve been trying to care for my body lately, and make good changes, and tend to my health and appearance. Yay.
But then I imagine that scene.
What would she see? What would she notice?
Would she think to herself, Was he whitening his teeth? (I have been.) Perhaps she’d think, Looks like he tried but it didn’t really take.
Would she think to herself, I know he was trying to exercise more, and that was admirable of him, but there was just too much to overcome. I see belly fat and stretch marks and pasty flabbiness and this nakedness is repugnant, and he was kidding himself if he thought all his exercise was going to turn back that clock.
Would she think, I can’t believe he let his hair grow that long? (I haven’t gotten a haircut in a long, long time.) Or, That body won’t play guitar anymore, but his fingers bear the marks and calluses of it?
I am a future corpse.
Care for your body, but don’t get carried away.