Yes, I'm Still A Fat Fuck - But I'm Doing Better

It’s been more than 7 weeks since I acknowledged that I had devolved into a fat, lazy shambles of a human being again. I figured it was time for an accountability check.

I did break down and buy that gym membership – and one for my wife – on November 6^th, and have diligently exercised at least every other day, not counting the week of Thanksgiving.

Thus far, after two actual weeks of exercise, I weigh the same 265 pounds I did when I decided I was disgusted with my health and fitness and needed to make a change.

But I do feel a lot better. I have more energy now, after just two weeks of working out. I look forward to going to the gym to get my fix of endorphins each day. I think my wife is enjoying an energy boost of her own, as well.

The last time I undertook to lose a ton of weight, in my 20s, I had the benefit of a higher metabolism and a bicycle commute that ensured that I was burning a few calories, even on days I missed out on visiting the gym. This time things will be more difficult.

In fact, I doubt exercise will be enough this time. Thankfully, my primary care doctor has referred me to a nutritionist who can hopefully help me adjust my diet to help lose weight and improve overall health.

On A More Important Note

While we’re on the subject of primary care doctors, let me tell you a dirty little secret: I’ve gone for approximately 10 years of my life without any health care provider whatsoever.

Some of that was due to a lapse in insurance coverage – after I left a job in a large university health system, I entered into the journalism profession at such a low salary that I couldn’t afford insurance premiums. Any healthcare services were provided by community health clinics and urgent treatment centers. During this time, my wife also went without health insurance, a primary care doctor, and any women’s health services.

I would venture to say that our chinchillas received better healthcare than we did. At least they had a set veterinarian and some established continuity of care – Cheryl and I had nothing.

Keep in mind here that I have some chronic issues that should be monitored by physicians – I have asthma that can be exacerbated by issues with my cleft lip and palate (I become congested very easily and have issues clearing out congestion once it reaches my lungs – an allergy exacerbation almost always eventually becomes full-blown bronchitis if the symptoms are left untreated). I have cerebral palsy and a sensory processing disorder.

In recent years, thanks to a hospital visit resulting from a car crash, I also discovered that I have an autoimmune condition called sarcoidosis that causes benign masses to sprout up in various places throughout my body. I believe that condition to be in remission now, but when it flares up I can suffer from masses in my lungs, eyes, lymph nodes – even my brain. This is a condition that definitely needs to be monitored by a doctor.

Thankfully, I’ve been a relatively healthy person despite these chronic health issues.

I'm A Dumbass

When I started blogging about financial independence, I realized that health is probably the one topic more central to everyone’s lives than finances.  If we’re not healthy enough to enjoy our wealth, what’s the point of working towards financial independence? Does anyone really want to spend their retirement in poor health?

Ignoring preventative healthcare is one of the worst financial decisions a person can make. Failing to regularly go to a doctor and monitor one’s health can lead to expensive hospital visits, surgeries, prescriptions and other interventions down the line. It can also shorten your lifespan and greatly increase the cost of living during retirement.

If one of the central rules of personal finance is to invest in yourself first, then one of your first investments in yourself should be in maintaining or improving your health.

I couldn’t really advocate for others taking control of their financial situations while I ignored my own health. I had insurance, but I had never really exercised it the way I should have.

In short, I was being a hypocrite.

Here was a problem that I had the resources to confront, but my own inertia – out of fear, shame and regret – was preventing me from doing so.

Confront The Shame

I was ashamed that I was fat and living a sedentary lifestyle. I was ashamed that I hadn’t kept up with my health over the years (I even lied to family and friends about going to the doctor). I was ashamed that I had spent so much time losing momentum rather than building it.

I let all that shame hold me back when I could have just picked up the phone (or opened an internet browser) and made myself a damn appointment – and I’m lucky that all my shame didn’t lead me to have a major health crisis like a heart attack during that time.

This is the same kind of shame that keeps people from addressing their personal financial situation, changing their lifestyle or improving their relationships. It’s not unique to me, you, or anyone else. I think it’s secretly universal – even the most intelligent and seemingly proactive people we encounter are bound to some extent by their own personal shames and fears.

What’s important is that we find within ourselves – and each other – the courage to address the root problems in spite of the shame we feel. I encourage anyone reading this to consider when and where shame has held them back from making an important improvement in their lives, acknowledge the shame as an obstacle, confront the actual problem at hand and then tell their story to hopefully inspire someone else.

It’s okay to be afraid. It’s not okay to let fear dominate your decision making.

I’m happy to say I had my first primary care appointment in four years on Nov. 16. While I’m not exactly falling apart, there are a few health issues other than my weight that I must confront, including, for the first time, higher than normal blood pressure.

I have a slate of appointments with specialists coming up over the next couple of months, and I will try to document my progress on becoming a physically healthier person as I write about my financial progress on Robbins’ Nestegg.

It's Okay To Let The Days Go By

It shouldn’t be any secret that I’m a music buff. I learned to play my first musical instrument when I was 5 years old, and I’ve been collecting music since I was able to buy my first cassette tape. I guess you all now know for sure that I’m a child of the pre-CD era.

Well, as I was recovering from bronchial and throat infections last weekend, Cheryl and I decided to attend a concert (the tickets had been bought before the illnesses struck) by Pink Talking Fish.

Pink Talking Fish is a cover/tribute band of sorts, in that they play setlists constructed entirely of other musicians’ material, as their name suggests, for the most part songs by Pink Floyd, The Talking Heads and Phish. I can’t recommend their music enough.

On Saturday, they played a Halloween-themed concert event in Asbury Park by covering Pink Floyd’s seminal “Dark Side of the Moon” album, interspersing songs by The Talking Heads and Phish between classics like “Breathe,” “Brain Damage,” and “Money.”

Let me be clear – I love “Dark Side of the Moon” – the production work on the album remains immaculate to this day, I can sing almost every guitar solo by heart (but I’m rubbish for lyrics) and overall the suite deserves its standing as one of the greatest rock albums every recorded, if not the best.

But let’s face it. “Dark Side of the Moon,” like much of Pink Floyd’s catalogue, is depressing. Particularly in its focus on death and fear of mortality. To me, the centerpiece of the album is “Time.”

The song is full of brilliant David Gilmour lyrics suggestive of mortal anxiety:

“And then one day you find ten years have got behind you./No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.”

“The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older/Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.”

“Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time/Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines.”

Every time I hear it, I re-examine all of the “frittering” and “wasting” I’ve done with the time that was given to me. I didn’t really leave home until 22. I didn’t really have much of a long-term relationship until the same age. I didn’t get a bachelor’s degree until I was 28. I didn’t start my career until I was 30. I’ve done a hell of a lot of frittering.

Every time I hear “Time,” I think about the finite bounds on my life, and how they always feel like they’re holding me down. At the recent Schwab IMPACT conference in Washington, D.C., a presenter mentioned that advisors’ could think of their clients lives in three 8,888-day segments (approximately 25 years): Birth to gradualtion from college, graduation from college to mid-life crises, and mid-life crises to death. I’m well into my second 8,888 days – nearing the top of the hill, if you will – on the old conception of longevity and life.

And I never do find the time to do all the things I want to. I want to go back to school and learn a new trade. I want to have kids. I want to develop side gigs and hustles to feel more productive and generate additional income. I want to travel. I want to start playing music again. I want to be financially independent – and I want to do it myself without thinking about or using my family’s wealth. I want, I want, I want. All of the time-anxiety makes me feel regret that I wasn’t doing any of this stuff before – and any failure to make progress leads to more fear, anxiety and regret.

But before Pink Talking Fish finished their set on Saturday, somewhere between “Any Colour You Like” and “Brain Damage,” they dove into a very different classic song: “Once in a Lifetime” by The Talking Heads.

David Byrne has a way of writing lyrics that make you think, but I’ve never considered “Once in a Lifetime” to be one of those songs. Most of the song consists of his manic ranting of rhetorical questions:

“And you may find yourself in a beautiful house/With a beautiful wife/And you may ask yourself, well/How did I get here?”

But it also includes a refrain that responds directly to David Gilmour’s time-anxiety.

“Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down/Letting the days go by, water flowing underground.”

David Byrne would have us “surrender to the flow” (to borrow a Phish lyric) – time passes no matter what you do. Things are going to happen to you no matter what you do. You inevitably will change, and more often than not, evolve for the better and make progress no matter what you do.

And because it can happen without much intention or effort, one can feel like an imposter.

“This is not my beautiful wife… This is not my beautiful house.”

And then, buried near the back of the song amidst a repeated refrain of “Same as it ever was,” a point where radio stations may already be fading out the volume, Byrne delivers the master stroke against Gilmour’s time anxiety:

“Time isn't holding us up/Time isn't after us.”

To me, Byrne is telling us not to worry about “Letting the days go by,” because time as we know it is just an arbitrary measure, and it flows and feels differently for all of us. There is always time to make things better. There is always time to evolve. There is always time enough for accomplishments and achievements. We can’t let ourselves be dragged down by time anxiety. We shouldn’t measure out the remainder of our lives with coffee spoons like some sort of modern J. Alfred Prufock.

David Byrne has it right!

I’ll close with what has become a cliché motivational quote, but nevertheless one of my favorites as I proceedethrough middle age:

“It's Never Too Late To Be What You Might Have Been.” – George Eliot