Body clock: (n) a person’s or animal’s biological clock.
I try not to think about it very often for fear of becoming a whack job.
For you see, considering one’s own mortality is a drippy, sappy journey into sentimentality which often leaves tears in one’s eyes, considering how miserable the world will be without us.
Still, we’re all dealing with a body clock.
The little girl who dies of cancer when she’s eight years old should have had an opportunity to know that she was going through middle age at four.
Yet how weird would we become if we had any inkling of the actual time of our demise? In other words, if death did not surprise us, how much life could we muster before dissolving into a heap of self-pity?
Fortunately for us, there are certain points of awareness when we realize we have lost a step, can’t move so well or think that most street signs are now written in Mandarin.
We get that little nudge from life that we have less time remaining than what we’ve already used.
It is a merciful motivator to muster the magic.
Because if we don’t start the magic soon … we will run out of opportunities to show off our tricks.
Jonathan’s Latest Book Release!
PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant