I did not choose my own body

Here I am, 59 years old, and wondering what kind of a body I am saddled with; or rather, what kind of a body have I made mine, down the years. Fact remains though that someone, something somewhere, sometime gave me my body the way it was at birth. Mother, undoubtedly, and apart from Mother and Father, something else which is beyond comprehension. In each body, its intricate beauty, amazingly complex inner- structure, uniqueness such that no two are alike, facial contours, there is some divine magic going on here that we have, in a most simplistic manner, normalised and treated in an off-hand casual manner, as just another creation of the Lord. The human body is most magical. As is all of Nature. 

Sadly, I have neglected and abused my body and made my own stomach, liver and limbs dysfunctional.

Here I am, 59 years old, and still wondering what constitutes my mind. I dont know what kind of a person I am. Am I a good person, or a wicked one. Some of my shenanigans activities and thought processes are cheap immoral and downright loathsome. Other times, I picture myself as a moderately good and affable fellow. My nature, disposition and mood fluctuates as per the state of my stomach, pocket, free-time and surrounding company, books and influences. What am I really; I cant say.

The say "Choices we make define the life we lead." It is really debatable whether we really Make those choices, or whether the choices become ours perforce of necessity and circumstance. In a way all that I did these last 59 years just happened to happen. Changing circumstances did the choosing themselves. Not me. Events bound themselves into and unto my life, in an inextricable pattern.

I did not choose the meandering track of my own life.

But what I can choose now, is to be thankful.