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So, it seemed just like yesterday, some of us were gathered down in San Diego celebrating seven decades and a nickel of candles on my B-day cake. We harmonized the usual tune and when I clapped, the candles went out. I think, even before Covid-19, no one really relished a slice of cake some old guy had just sprayed (whether he’d had his shots or not.) Frankly, I think Birthday cake hygiene has been overlooked throughout history. I’m still working on a cooler sounding approach than clapping out the candles on your birthday cake.

But what happened last May was nothing compared to what happened last week, or even the week after the trip south. A birthday is just a number, and I happen to like numbers. Plus, you get to hang out with friends, get gifts, eat ice cream and cake, maybe have a cold one, and celebrate the day by soaking up all the attention.

However, good grief Charlie Brown! Within 10-days of May 3, there was a changing of the guard with a new practice owner inside the 46-year-old four walls. Overnight, I had become my own favorite employee of the month. And in a few weeks, my advising with or without consent will hit a 12-month anniversary. I’ve had easier transitions, like after finally escaping dental school in the dark of night with all the official paperwork.

What I’ve discovered during the past 11-months is too much reflection during all the added free time isn’t necessarily a cool thing. Overthinking can lead to many dangerous habits (like paralysis by analysis and too much dreaming.) The symptoms range from presumably retired Pasadena citizens transfixed on a street corner, staring at Mt. Wilson (or beyond) to 20-minute coffee orders at Peet’s to golfers unable to tee it up within major league baseball’s pitch clock regulations. As it is, I’m not totally convinced my behavior or seating position doesn’t impact the outcome of some sports events (but I’ve always been like that, probably from my Old-World Sicilian superstitious DNA.)

I need structure. Building time slots for reading Italian crime novels (real books only), writing articles without implicating former patients, co-workers, or community leaders; thoughtlessly smacking golf balls, or setting and accomplishing goals seem to be key to my dodging Trance City.

So, I’ve done multiple social media challenges and read books addressing overthinking. My favorite source of therapy has been author Jon Acuff and his book, Soundtracks. Acuff writes/speaks about building and accomplishing goals; he also notes the miserable little man in the back of your head who talks smack fulltime creating a consistently negative message (or soundtrack.) The little twerp’s life is based on convincing you your goals are out of reach even before you start. But to quote Acuff, the negative soundtrack "gets a voice, but not a vote."

But last week, I started taking a prescription medication for the first time, EVER. It changed everything. Now, I drop 10-mgs of a statin before my David Carradine “walk the land” meandering through and around Pasadena’s Madison Heights. And I was already “hopped up” on Superbeets, CBD vegan hot chocolate, ACV gummies, vitamin C, and enough vitamin D for a hippopotamus with osteoporosis. Oh, I almost forgot Dr. Gundry’s Total Restore, just in case I’m quietly suffering from leaky gut.

What’s next is, I guess I’ll start noticing things my mom and Aunt Clara used to complain about, like knocks at the front door at 3am or answering annoying low lifers who ask stuff like, “Are you still practicing?” or “How old are you now?” Oh, they're asking me?

My mom once confessed to having told a lie when some old bat at the market persisted in asking her age. Rather than deliver a Sicilian knuckle sandwich, Mom whispered her response to me, “I took off 10-years.” High five!

For the last week, people in their 40s have been concerned when I needed to move a folding chair a few feet or if I’m driving at night. To make it worse, I’ve become obsessed with stuff like intermittent fasting, checking my weight and blood pressure…twice a day, and putting in at least 10,000 steps per day and using CBD nightly to get at least 7-hours of sleep. My reward: taking frigging Rosuvastatin for my cholesterol. :(

Another adjustment I’ve noticed lately is the way I’m addressed in public. Even though my Facebook self-description as “The foremost DDS-type/elite athlete/scribe in the San Gabriel valley” remains in full view, I’ve noticed my street salutation has morphed from “dude” to “boss” to a somewhat patronizing, smirking “young man.” And that’s when I support the mean little voice who whispers, “I got your “young man” right here!”

A year ago, I’d never taken any sort of medication. I could put out bonfires merely by clapping my hands. I even shared some slick Hip Hop moves on video for charity. And I still carry my golf clubs (unlike a nameless former president who will probably travel by golf cart to his next indictment.)

And I used to think walking was what you did to get to the car to drive to the gym, the tennis courts, or the golf course. But now I’m daily walking toward a goal (15K steps!) while stopping to take notes on my phone when ideas for a book, another column, or a dental assistant training side hustle with Team Leader Dani bypass the cancelled mean little man who used to advise, “Too good to be true” with “Every time, somehow, you always figure things out.”