I wonder sometimes about the thresholds between the daily practices of physical, emotional and spiritual fitness, and harm reduction. Is it an age factor where all our efforts turn from building and simply slowing the descent? There is exercise. There is meditation. There are mindfulness practices. There are intellectual pursuits. I sit with feelings to process and absorb them. On many days, for me, it is all of the above or some combination of a few.It’s not a delusional run at staving off age and inevitable death. It’s more the requirements or recipe for a day without anxiety or despair or physical discomfort and it mostly works.Yet it’s impossible to ignore, and I’m tempted for lack of words to say ravages but won’t, the signs of at least the physical decline. Gravity is calling me home and that’s just the way it is. I don’t speak of it from fear. It’s just dishonest not to speak of it if I’m speaking about my life. It is what’s happening and this isn’t a casual observance. It’s fucking fascinating. It’s my own nature documentary.My relationship with my body used to be one of horrid curiosity. It was so evident that my lifestyle was testing every biological gift I’d been endowed with. It was a morose chemistry experiment and I was somewhat detached from it, but horrified by the knowledge that it was me I was watching.I do regret sometimes that I took that path rather than taking up the healthy practices and observing that. A bit too late for regrets though so being a spectator/player/coach in the sport of aging is trumps second guessing. Too damn late for that.