Lately, and more often, I wish I were one of the Hardy People, those whose totems would be the cacti, the weeds, reptiles, cockroaches, and stone. Instead, I find myself among the Delicates, a horse in need of a herd, an orchid in captivity, grass in need of temperate weather, and a human already on a statin drug (at 43). My grandfather is one of the Hardy People, a former smoker, a still sometimes drinker, and always and forever an eater of deep-fried southern food. He is 92 and went on a statin drug in his mid-80s. The Hardy People do not have panic attacks or chronic anxiety, and long I thought I was a member of this tribe, for I did not have these "issues" ... until 41. Maybe the clues were there in my first depression at 21, in college, in summer school - the first time I dropped a class, the first time I failed to excel, the first time I ran away to the mountains to be alone in my personal darkness. Lots and lots of poetry then. Sadly, anxiety does not produce poetry the way depression does. Oh, to be one of the Hardy, the steeled, the less sensitive, who fits the larger, louder, faster world of constant consumption. I am a terrible consumer, failing to embrace debt and her whorish lust. I am not entitled and know but for the grace of civilization I would probably be among the group that was on the low side of the numbers that kept human lifespan at around 30 before the 20th century. I live on borrowed time and am trying to make the most of it since I worry about regression; the kind that could engulf the world with the end of fossil fuels. I wonder if I would be clever enough to be the special kind of Hardy that comes with expert knowledge; could I learn to be a doctor, witch or otherwise? How wise does a wise man have to be to get helping hands from those that toil? Or is it, how wise of a con man must I become? If the medicine stops, as did in Haiti, Japan, and New Orleans, would it matter? What do I give the world enough to make my ongoing consumption, conspicuous or quiet, worth the world's effort? If I were Hardy, maybe these "concerns," like the anxiety would not matter. Regardless, I guess, I must learn to manage my delicacy as one might manage diabetes or lyme disease or bad luck. Here's hoping for at least 50 more years of oil, uranium, natural gas, and coal and a planet with enough ecosystem to handle them in use for 8 billion people. I guess, on the plus side, at least I love the heat; winter brings sickness and death, so "viva" the global warming!
