Well, at Least We Did That
What to do. I’m finally about to put finishing touches on a project that’s lasted much longer than I ever thought it would. At the recommendation of the infinitely wise ChatGTP, I’ve decided to end the project, follow my own advice, and move forward with a less ambitious solution.
Yes, I know – ChatGPT? Really? Well, it offered a solution I had been considering, and when taken objectively, it’s the smart way to finish my memoir book project and get on with other things. After all, I first started writing this thing late in 2020. Now, countless drafts and revisions later, I think it reads well enough to put it out there. It’s time to let it sink or swim on its own.
Moving on, I have a couple much more pleasant book projects to consider, a few other hobbies to pursue, and, I can’t believe I’m saying this, an AI agent to build. I’m taking a class into how to create one and use it to help with my ‘heavy’ retirement workload.
This may come as a shock to you working people, but we retired folk have a ton of important things to maintain and advise, like being a busy body on our condominium’s art committee, or my grandchildren’s welfare, or advising our daughter-in-laws about stuff that doesn’t matter and things that are none of my business. You know, stuff like that.
Sometimes it’s just too much fun irritating the ones you love. I’m trying to improve on that. Does that sound ambiguous? I hate to tell you – it’s supposed to.
Beyond that, I have other fun things to do, too. Like endlessly frustrating myself on a weekly basis by playing golf. I keep harboring the illusion that one day I’ll get better. All I have to do is play more, play regularly. I tell myself if I do that it’s inevitable that I’ll get better. Only problem is there’s this trend over the last few years that defies my logic. I’m not getting better. If anything, I’m getting worse.
Oh, I still have good days. There are just fewer of them. And more days where I’m absolutely horrible. Why is that? Well, probably because you’re getting old, dopey. Ever thought of that one? Ok, but that doesn’t explain why I hit fewer balls in the direction I want and why my driver is less cooperative than ever. Maybe, just maybe, I should start retreating to playing easy par 3 courses.
I don’t know – I just can’t do that. It’s bad enough I’ve begun playing more from the white tees than the blues. And worse, I’m having to admit to myself it’s generally more fun. When your driver only tops 260 yards on rare occasions, it might be time to consider scaling back, or in this case up, to the next tee box.
I played so poorly for the first few holes a month ago, one of the group I played with suggested I hit from the green tees. I managed a smile at the gently delivered insult, and said, “No, I’ll be fine. I just haven’t sorted my driver yet.” The next tee I drove it 265 right down the middle, about 5 yards farther than my critic. Take that, buddy!
Anyway, there are other things to do, thank God. Like the five national parks we just visited in Utah, where my wife fell in love with the e-bikes we recently bought. It allowed us to take a 53-mile ride over 4,800 vertical feet through Arches NP, and the topper, a 35-mile backroads ride that began with a radical, switchback-laden 1,400 foot descent in Canyonlands NP.
The whole affair was one huge desert dust bin of rock, gravel, sand, and washboard-rutted road delivering an unending, five-hour sensation of being on a massive vibrator where the objective is to shake your brain loose from the base of your skull and your teeth from said skull.
Then there was the ascent of the aforementioned 1,400 foot cliff. Yes, what goes down must come back up if you ever expect to get back home for a shower and aspirin to be washed down by a beer. Ah, for the simple pleasures in life.
But don’t count those blessings just yet. There are plenty of four-wheel drive Jeeps on these switchbacks heading the opposite direction. If you’re lucky two or three of them will just miss sweeping you off the edge to your doom. Did I mention how much I enjoyed this bike ride? No? When I finally got to that beer, I do remember saying, “Well, at least we can tell everyone we did it.” In other words, don’t ever make me do that again!
Last was the hike up the Narrows at Zion NP. This river flows through a four-hundred-foot-deep gorge only 50 to 100 feet wide. The idea is you wade upstream through the gorge where, after 6 to 8 miles, you are rewarded with some sort of great trophy – the privilege of returning the way you came for another 6 to 8 miles.
Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful. But getting up at 4:30 AM to get there at the crack of dawn wasn’t so great, and after about ten miles of wading through quickly flowing, rocky riverbeds in anything from ankle to bellybutton deep water, I was over it.
But, hey, it’s another thing we can say we did. And, you know, I’m all about being able to brag about having done lots of shit. It’s what I live for. Just ask my wife. On second thought, no, don’t do that. It might inspire her to find some other way to torture me.
I still haven’t decided what I like more – hunting down a golf ball in the rough, riding my fabulously fun e-bike off a cliff, or clamoring upstream over slippery rocks in waist deep rushing water for miles on end. Maybe I should ask my new AI agent buddy. He’ll know. He knows everything.
