The leading edge of a wave foams irregularly across a smooth sandy shore. Obeying irresistible forces, it returns to the deep, leaving only a dark line of dampness to show the limits of its reach and the scattered remnants of what it picked up on the journey, but couldn’t carry back. Just like the process of aging.
On my 71st birthday, today, I feel and observe the lines and remainders of my life thus far. I’m old and I’m smiling. I see lines and marks on my skin, strands of grey in my hair, scars on my belly. I see the terminal career entry on my work resume. I sort through mementoes of what I can’t take with me when I rejoin the deep. Photographs of good times, report cards and evaluations; diplomas, certificates and awards; financial accounts and deeds. Shall I measure these against some standard of achievement? No, I’m satisfied to have touched and been touched by each. To have lived this well and this long, that’s what makes me glad to be at this place on the beach head of life, still eager for the next animated crest, the next sucking trough.
You may recall that in 2006, just months before my 60th birthday an anonymous organ donor granted me extra days in the sun. More than a decade has passed and “I’m Not Done Yet”. I loved the 70’s the first time around, and life in the 70’s redux seems even more full of fun, freedom, meaning and love. So happy to share it with you.
- “Your 40s are good. Your 50s are great. Your 60s are fab. And 70 is f*@king awesome!”