Stool study - how hard can it be?

~ is life always hard; can you ever have enough stool softener on hand?

Ah, aging - that great equalizer, it turns youthful swagger into a fast shuffle toward the nearest restroom stop …

OK let’s make this softer — let’s make it about a broader range of the stages of our lives, because this is about everyone. Maybe it’s easier to see later in life looking backward, but it seems right-headed to offer it to younger readers, knowing full well that because it comes from someone older and more experienced, it should be expected that it will be deflected or discounted - but it cannot be denied.

Do you remember when doing an all-nighter was a badge of honour to finish a paper, study for a major exam or to submit a project bid on time, rather than a certain prescription for three days of slo-mo recovery?

It's amusing how life's big thrills shift from sneaking into R-rated movies to finding an available parking spot closest to the grocery store entrance.

We used to go hard for adventure, a deal, a deadline or a hot date - ready to conquer mountains (or get the girl). Now, the only thing we're hard for up is a decent night’s rest without bathroom breaks.

Language evolves with us.

We carry our reworked playground taunts into our careers into meeting room banter as if sarcasm is some secret handshake ticket to entry into adulthood. We say we're crushing it at work, but deep down, we're just trying not to get crushed by the avalanche of competing demands on our time and emails marked urgent.

Metaphors become emotional armour, our expressions ~ with zeal, without exposing vulnerability. It's easier to say we're hungry for success than to admit we're terrified of mediocrity.

I think back to my dad in his later years, managing his medications like a meticulous alchemist. Amidst the rainbow of pills that he took for blood pressure, cholesterol, and many other maladies - his top priority was ensuring he never ran out of stool softeners.

Yes, stool softeners - those unsung heroes of his daily routine.

Forget the fountain of youth; he was on a quest for the fountain of regularity.

It's funny how the mundane becomes monumental as we get older, our priorities shifting like the ever-elusive Wi-Fi signal when we have a thought that must be captured before it disappears …

We guard our feelings because acknowledging them means confronting the reality that life is hard - not in the euphemistic way we boasted in our younger days or just lately in the locker room.

Enthusiasm gets tempered by experience, zeal diluted by practicality. Yet, there's a certain comedy in this guarded existence, a shared understanding that we're all just winging it while pretending to read the instruction manual.

So here we are, we’ve traded playgrounds for office cubicles, and we traded them for ring lights and ‘zoom studios’ at home - yet still navigating the monkey bars of social etiquette and emotional expression.

Our background becomes our foreground.

We misjudge the value of the familiar landscape, one where we use humour to mask insecurities and metaphors to bridge the gap between who we are and who we pretend to be …

After all, if we didn't laugh about it, we'd probably just have to feel something …

p.s. for those with a genuine medical need: the Cleveland Clinic speaks

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I publish this Musings column daily and post poems, short stories and other ‘plus/+’ content weekly. Many of you enjoy this content for free, and I truly appreciate your readership. Paid subscriptions are modest: $8 monthly (26¢ a day), $72 annually (20¢ a day), or you can donate any amount. Paid subscribers get extra content, but everyone is welcome - your presence matters. But if you haven't yet become a paid subscriber, I'd be grateful if you'd consider it. Thank you for reading Musings, and thanks to Substack for supporting writers like me. Warm regards, Mark

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This week’s bonus [Musings+] postings for PAID subscribers:

SHORT STORY: END OF THE LINE ~ POEM: BIG PANTS

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