I reflect on what's left.
I can still goof off. I can still eat. I can still walk. The trifecta!
I underrated all of these things early on, but I particularly underrated goofing off. I treasured my smarts; I valued my writing skill and my ability to perceive what's beautiful. I did not ascribe much importance to the fact that, most of the time, I'm ready to laugh.
But honestly, if we can't liven up our trek through the great steppes of existence by cracking a few fart jokes, then what is the point? Surely, laundry is not the point. If I find out, in the afterlife, that I am to be judged on the quantity and quality of my laundering, I am in deep, deep trouble. I do not separate my darks from my lights (spoiler alert: no one has died). I have never cleaned, and do not aspire to clean, my dryer vent (dicier; consider this my suicide note).
We don't know, in the beginning, what to value about ourselves. We prize what we lack, or what others praise us for, or what we are acculturated to want. Especially when you're young, it's difficult to perceive within yourself the outlines of what will sustain you.
Legs. Teeth. Diaphragm.