I don’t have much more to say about Point Park, but I don’t have any other photos, so this is a disconnected blog post–the text has nothing to do with the photos.
A colleague of mine lost his father on Tuesday. His father was relatively young and presumably healthy–he died quite unexpectedly of an aneurism. It’s funny how such a tragedy in someone else’s family can feel like my own tragedy. I guess I can make anything about me.
But this is how my mind works: person dies. Did person who died have a fulfilling life? Were they ready to die? Did they feel like they had done the things they wanted to do in their lifetime? My gosh. I’m going to die. I am not immortal. I have so many things I want to do before my life ends. This person died without warning or symptoms of anything. What if I just dropped dead tomorrow? My bucket list would be left behind, ridiculous in its length.
These moments always serve as a reminder that I’m rapidly approaching the age at which my mother was diagnosed with cancer. On one hand, I am confident I do not have cancer and that I will not have cancer. On the other hand, I find myself puzzled by the notion of finding a balance point between experiencing everything life has to offer and having things like health insurance. In the event I am wrong that I will not have cancer, it would be really helpful to have insurance. And income. Two very helpful things if faced with a potentially life-threatening disease.
But if you spend all your time and energy worrying about having things like health insurance and income to cover you and your family in the event you have a life-threatening illness, isn’t it just possible that you create that illness? I mean, the stress and worry and long work hours. Do they not increase the probability of what you most want to avoid coming to fruition?
On the other hand, if you throw caution to the wind, pursue your dreams and live hand to mouth with no health insurance, what happens then? And it’s not just me I worry about. What if my husband gets sick or my dog? There would be nothing worse than having to watch my dog suffer without being able to do anything for him. Or having to put him down solely because I couldn’t afford to treat what ailed him.
These are the kinds of choices I dread. So, instead, I go to work each morning and I enjoy the other freedoms that comes from having an income and health insurance. But, some days I wonder if a) I am kidding myself about the level of security I really have–it could all go away in an instant, and b) if I were on my death bed, would I regret not having health insurance or not having traveled the continent more?