Pee, my meatsack and me

Five days to 40, and I’m aware of my body in a way that I have never been before.

When I was young, unless I got sick or injured, my body was about as present in my day-to-day consciousness as the idea that I am the universe experiencing itself. It was just a vehicle, an ambient context around which the world moved in ways that I was occasionally able to influence.

There were exceptions to this, obviously. 

Puberty had some brutal moments. 

A decade of chronic reflux wasn’t fun.

Discovering I had a penis and how it could make me feel was fun, alarming, wonderful and shameful, sometimes all at once.

Breaking my leg briefly brought my body into startlingly clear perspective. (But when you’re four, that perspective is fleeting when nice people bring you even nicer things and you get all the attention in the world.)

By and large, my body was no more relevant to me than the earth orbiting the sun; it existed, and occasional extremes captured my attention just long enough to drink a Panado and get on with life.

It was only in my late 20s that things shifted. It was gradual, but I started noticing little things that wouldn’t go away.

My body felt creaky and stayed that way until I got moving.

I wasn’t able to keep up with my peers when playing Ultimate Frisbee.

The discomfort of a twisted ankle or banged shin didn’t miraculously disappear within a few minutes.

One of my favourite people in the world who I’ve never met is Mike McHargue. If you’ve ever listened to The Liturgists podcast, Ask Science Mike or The Cosy Robot, you’ll know. 

If you haven’t, he’s an incredibly smart, insightful, vulnerable guy who has publicly shared his journey through faith and deconstruction, being diagnosed with autism as an adult and the myriad of ways his experience of the world changed over time.

One thing he noted while reflecting on getting older was:

“I’m amazed at how long it takes me to pee.”

Reverentially, casually, just an offhanded observation within a broader story. But that line and how he delivered it struck me in a way that is impossible to overstate.

The reality of my body getting older came into crystal clear focus the first time it took me longer to pee than usual.

Not because there is anything wrong with my prostate — I’ve checked — or any other reasons for concern, but in that moment, staring down at my no-longer-shame-inducing-but-still-wonderful penis and wondering how long it would take to finish, the import of Mike’s words knocked on the door of my awareness, sauntered into the control room, gently nudged the youthful body-awareness-orchestrator and said, “I’ll take it from here”.

There are things about how my body is aging that are becoming painfully apparent.

I can no longer take a long rest and magically be restored to full hit points, regardless of how injured I was the night before.

I have conditions that require regular attention.

I can’t rack up weeks of sleep debt and pay it off with a well-timed nap.

I have joints and tendons and muscles I didn’t know existed that occasionally announce their presence in ways that are impossible to ignore.

I’m increasingly aware that I can no longer take my sight, hearing, metabolism, or any of the wonderful body things that just happen like the seasons for granted anymore.

And I’m not complaining. I mean sure, sometimes I complain a little bit, but it’s mostly quiet swearing under my breath when my ankle decides to yammer at me halfway through a run and we have to stay in conversation for the 3 kilometres back home.

I’m proud of my body, and all of its ageing parts.

I honour all of the bits clamouring for attention that force me to slow down, stay aware and seriously consider how I live.

I love my meatsack.

It is the only window I will ever have to marvel at the stars, saturate myself in music, drink great beer with better people, hug my wife, wrestle with my son and tickle my daughter until I feel like I’m about to burst with kiddengulf⁽¹⁾ and willing to burn the rest of world down to hear them giggle one more time.

And I adore the fact that it still sometimes takes me a just a little bit longer than usual to pee.