When I was 50 I concluded that I was on extra credit time.

That was the year Danny graduated from high school and left home. The nest was empty except for me and the elderly dog (who would continue for another six years). I didn’t own a car or operate other heavy equipment. No one depended on me acting responsibly.

It felt so liberating. When I was a child there was that omnipresent idea that I had to learn certain things in order to become an adult, and an adult was what I chiefly wanted to be. When I was a teenager sure I partied and experimented, but almost scientifically so, because I was motivated to live to the next stage. When I was a provisional adult I had a few years of carefree-dom, but then pregnancy occurred, and motherhood, and oh my goodness I never dreamed how that would trap me. Suddenly my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t be there for Katie; immediately I became afraid to die.

But at 50 the children were well fledged. I certainly wasn’t going to have any more, so pollutants didn’t hold any threat against my reproductive equipment. I stopped being afraid to fly; I’m still not calm in a big plane, especially in turbulence, but if I’m worried it’s for the kids who happen to be on the plane with me – they haven’t had a life yet.

At 50 I decided that if I want to overindulge I can; the major consideration is how foolish am I willing to appear? And I determined that I can have as much tuna as I want. Canned, cooked, raw. Albacore, tombo, ahi. At my age I’m just not scared of mercury.

Funny though: most of the peers with whom I’ve discussed this have gone another way. They seem to be taking every possible step to preserve themselves at their current levels. My friends seek out esoteric medical tests that can only reveal a condition requiring expensive and/or obnoxious medication. And they talk out loud, menu in hand at fine restaurants, about limiting how much tuna they eat.

Perhaps it’s all the tuna I ingest,
hermetically reacting in my mind.
It may be too much mercury – I guessed
as much when ecstasy and faith combined,
for twice in several weeks a causeless joy
has filled me like my fingers fit a glove,
diverting me from all that could annoy,
subliming self-disdain to prescient love.

The brain that’s borne with me and entertained
my solitude and hasn’t let me down
as yet, assures me it won’t quit. Sustained
by intimation, I am free of frown
and dread. It’s like I’m granted my last wish,
except that might be toxins in the fish.