It’s official. I’ve got 10.6 years left of this most interesting life.

At least, that’s what the U.S. Social Security Administration says.

Of course, I’m saying all this while ignoring the fine print, the part about my current health, lifestyle, and family history.

What could go wrong?

I mean, my father died of cancer. My mother died of Parkinson’s and had a long list of other afflictions before that. And I had a brother who died at a young age from a heart ailment.

I’m not deterred. I’m moderately healthy.

Except for obesity, high blood pressure, prostate issues, and inability to sleep six hours (forget about eight).

Then there’s the issue of a lifetime of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll, which I’m convinced are still in my physical system (do I get extra points because I quit nearly fifteen years ago?). 

Aside from all those worries, I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Not satisfied with the Social Security calculator, I decided to check out The Life Expectancy Project.

“This program calculates life expectancy based on age, sex, and general health and smoking status. It does not account for other demographics, lifestyle choices, medical conditions, diseases, or injuries. The results given here are based on U.S. data; comparable results can be generated for other countries.”

There’s that warning again.

I punch in my vitals.

Highlight my current condition.

“Average health, including light smoker with no medical history or non-smoker with minor health concerns (such as one of hypertension, obesity, or diabetes controlled by diet alone).”

Press the calculate button.

The result.

• “Life Expectancy for John Doe 36068 – Male, Age 77.2 (DOB 12/8/1948)
• Life Expectancy = 9.8 additional years
• Median Survival Time = 9.5 additional years
• 80th Percentile = 15.1 additional years”

So, I should be cheering? Right?

I have somewhere between 9.5 and 15.1 more years?

Wait, I forgot to mention the heart pacemaker.

The pacemaker’s app says the battery will last another nine years.

And it can be replaced.

Yay. So, I’m going to plan on another 9 to 15.1 more years.

Knock on wood.

I mean, you have to plan for something. I don’t intend to sit around and watch those 9-15.1 years rush by without making even the slightest effort to fill every second of that time.

However, all those disclaimers about healthy choices we each make have me thinking there’s nothing simple about trying to live longer.

No matter how you’ve lived, you still face life’s wild cards.

I live less than a mile from two freeways that carry thousands of cars every hour, spewing their exhaust fumes across our beautiful Southern California skies.

There are also a couple of power plants nearby, but I have no idea what they’re spewing, so my lungs must work overtime.

If that doesn’t kill me, there are the tried-and-true methods.

I could be mugged and killed, slip and fall on my front steps, get T-boned on the 405 freeway, and be squashed into the concrete divider, compacted into a small square. 

Worse (it could get worse?), I could get COVID-19 (yes, people are still dying from it) and be carried into an ICU, and with my health issues, never make it out alive.

It could happen.

Of course, if my math is correct, when I average all the predictions, I could live to the nice ripe age of 82.2 (something not to aspire to) or, even better, live another 15.1 years, reaching 92.3.

All this prognostication, of course, could be better spent on planning how to fill those 476,509,975.2 seconds.

And I have a list.

Begin by learning to do nothing. You read, write, and do nothing.

Breathing, yes. Thinking, maybe. But surely, nothing.

Clear the mind. Clear the debris. Let fresh air refill the space.

Take care of my health (if it can help after all these years of damage). That includes eating better and exercising regularly.

Reading. Everything I can get my hands on.

Forget the MFA. Can’t afford it, and the last thing I want to do is be holed up in a classroom at my age.

Maybe find an expansive online class that will guide me in completing two multimedia/multiplatform projects, Walking Backward over Brown Glass© and Reckless©.

Of course, I’ll keep writing Voices for antoniopedroruiz.com.

Travel. A long bucket list of places. More local sightseeing. More ocean. More mountains. More rivers. More deserts.

More of California. Oregon. Washington state.

Grand Canyon is tops. Canada. New Orleans.

Learn Spanish so I can take a Roots Tour in Puerto Rico to visit my father’s hometown.

I also plan to visit my mother’s birthplace in the Dominican Republic.

Japan again, but this time, more than just Tokyo.

Spain. Eating my way through Italy.

Music. Surround myself with Music. And more Music.

Art. Surround myself with Art. And more Art.

Man, that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to personal goals.

The reality is that how long I live depends on many factors; some you can control, and others you can’t control.

Instead of obsessing over an arbitrary number, I will focus on factors I can influence, such as diet, exercise, mental health, and the one aspect that has shaped so much of my life: determination.

My determination to outrun death and its manifestations of sickness and incapacitation.

So far, it’s working.