I turn 58 years old today. That makes me five years older than my father was when he died, and five years younger than my mother was when she died.
It's a weird place to be.
And it leads to some interesting introspection.
The days pass so quickly now. On some, I feel older than my years; on most, I wonder how the heck this much time has passed because I certainly don't feel 58 years old. On some, I feel as if I still have my entire life ahead of me; on others, I am certain there will never be enough time to do all the things I still want to do.
I have done more than I thought I would… and less than I dreamed I might. I have not (yet) seen a palm tree or walked on a tropical beach
or travelled to Europe or seen as much of my own country as I would like to. Nor have I (yet 😉 ) become the bestselling author I would love to be.
But I have cried and laughed and lived and loved—fiercely. I have married and moved multiple times (moved, not married!), raised amazing children and been assured that grandchildren will one day be on the horizon(!), been blessed with brilliant, wonderful, insightful friends… and fought battles I never knew I would have to fight.
I have tried to live at least a little in rhythm with nature through my gardening and walks in the woods with Giant Dog. With gratitude and awe, I have watched countless sunrises and sunsets, and I have marveled at the stars and the vastness of the universe and my own smallness.
I have mourned the loss of humanity's humanity, but at the same time, I have rejoiced—also fiercely—at the rise of compassion and caring that I see in the generations now coming into their own. It is this compassion that gives me hope in the midst of our world's despair.
I am 58 years old today, and I am on track to outlive both my parents' lifespans.
The day has dawned gray and drizzly, but there are leaves unfurling on the trees, flowers beginning to bloom in the garden, and the promise of spring—and life—in the air.
It is a good place to be.