I sat down to make a list of the things I would have done differently in my healthy years, knowing what I know now. Time to be profound.
The first item to pop into my head was this: make sure you run that marathon, climb that mountain, get those washboard abs. But then I thought to myself, “Self, you had other priorities in your 20s and 30s. You didn’t want to do those things because you wanted to do other things.” No, I shouldn’t advise my healthier self this way.
Then I thought: avoid all those activities that caused your MS. But wait. That won’t work. Nobody knows what caused my MS.
How about eating better. Yeah, I suppose eating better is always good advice, but there is no evidence that it would have made a difference with my MS.
Save money for a rainy day? Did that.
Make sure you have long-term disability insurance to supplement your income if you can no longer work? Check.
Life insurance? Check.
Marry someone awesome. Big check.
I thought about this all day, and I only could come up with one item for my letter:
Dear healthier self:
This is you, I mean me, I mean this is your future self writing to give you advice on how to mitigate an impending health disaster. Buy long-term care insurance. That way, when you need someone to come into your house and get you up, showered, fed, and ready for the day, or if you end up in a nursing home, these costs will be covered.
Have a nice day.
Regards,
Mitch (2018)
Upon further reflection, that letter would freak out my younger, healthier self. What happened to being profound, anyway?
The process of writing this blog post didn’t take me to where I thought I would go, but I think it took me to where I needed to be:
The process of writing this blog post didn’t take me to where I thought I would go, but I think it took me to where I needed to be:
Dear healthier self:
This is advice from your future self. Keep doing what you’re doing buddy. It’s all good.
Have a nice day.
Regards,
Mitch (2018)
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