My Birthday; My Life

 

"Past a certain point, a person begins to realize 

that every year which passes deposits things

of great value into the account of life.

The arrival of wisdom is when we realize

that because of age and experience,

and what they've taught us, life hasn't made us old. 

But rather wealthier than our wildest dreams."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

May 23rd is my birthday, and by the time you read this, that day will have arrived, so it is appropriate for me to post my annual reflections of this day.

Some people yearn for the return of their youth.  That is literally the last thing I want.  I remember me when I was young, insecure, dumb, impulsive, and absolutely no clue of who or what I was supposed to be.  While I may have had energy and ambition, I had no direction, so those years became a kind of nightmare of wandering through a forest, having lost track of the trail.  I suppose what is wanted is to have that youth back coupled with the knowledge and wisdom acquired into old age.  It doesn't work like that.  If we could step into a time machine and go back to our 20's, we'd still find a brain stuffed full of bad decisions.  

Today, I've reached the age of 66, as someone once opined, "two-thirds of the way to Hell."  But as I considered the state of me, I realized that I really didn't have much to complain about.  Of course, I have health issues, but overall because of my commitment to diet and exercise, in many ways I'm in the best shape of my life.  My crises were all in my 40's and 50's, and now in the past.  Instead of gloom, all I see are possibilities.

I've been thinking about how I'm different now.  I remember being young, and feeling that softball was so much a part of my life, that I feared getting to the point I couldn't do it anymore.  In the middle of my motorcycle years, I feared the moment when that joyous activity had to be set aside.  But those moments came and went, oddly without the anticipated trauma.  The last game of softball I played, I was thrown out at first base by the left fielder because I just couldn't get down the baseline fast enough.  I faced that moment with a great deal more pragmatism than I expected.  I walked away from the game that day and really haven't missed it at all.  I remember that last motorcycle ride I had, a delightful spin through the Shenandoah, a day of fall colors and dappled sunlight.  I sold the bike a month or so later, because I realized that my reaction time had slowed to the point where riding in traffic had become dangerous.  Again, I walked away.  I still miss those rides, but those memories will be with me forever.

I now have a Mustang, fulfilling the dream of that 9-year-old boy who still exists deep inside.  I feel young again driving that car, and even eight months into this relationship, each time I get behind the wheel is still as exciting as the first time was.  I'm so very grateful to have experienced this.

I see the world differently.  I can take a longer, more strategic view of events, can see trends and connections to which the impatience of youth had blinded me.  I have a pretty good idea about what is worth worrying about, and what can be ignored.  My friendships are deeper and more substantial, and therefore more valuable.  I used to seek excitement and adventure. Now, I find fulfillment sitting on a beach watching the endless surf roll in, or sitting in a park, engulfed in the green of living things, serenaded by the songs of the birds.  I have developed patience, which has allowed me to continue to develop my writing. What a wonderful thing it is to feel the thoughts flow from my mind, through my fingers and on the screen, grown into cogent thoughts, and just perhaps, meaningful prose.

I still love thinking about space, and the universe.  I read with great anticipation what humans will do with the coming years, and my only regret about that future is that I won't be around to witness the first colony on the moon, and the first settlement on Mars.  We are a restless and curious crowd, we humans, and are somehow never satisfied with unanswered questions.

I do find that I am so very much aware of the passage of time.  Every time I see pictures of our grandchildren, I am reminded how fast they are growing up, and how so very far is the distance between us.  I need to stay at this job for eight more years in order to be vested for a pension.  I can't help but think that at one time, eight years was just...eight years.  Now, its the distance between 66 and 74, and all which that implies.  In caring for Cheryl's Mom, I see the cost that time has inflicted on her mind, and dread becoming that guy.  That's really the only thing I think that worries me about the future.  Not living long enough, but perhaps too long.

My perspective, because of a near-death experience, is different.  Having gotten a peek beyond the curtain, I don't feel any fear about going back there to stay.  But I also know that I am not done here yet; there is still work for me to do.  When that hour comes, I will go without regret, and that is freeing.

I've made a lot of bad decisions over the years.  Many had significant costs involved.  But those black days helped make me who I am today, and so I don't waste time cursing the stupidity of my younger self.  I accept that experience, for better or worse, has flavored the stew that is my life.  

Cheryl and I will pass the 43rd year of marriage next month.  I make the joke that she hasn't shot me yet, so it must be true love.  But we have survived the worst parts of each other, and celebrated that best of what we have become.  She is still beautiful to me, and I treasure her presence in my life.  Coming home after midnight and seeing her car in the driveway still gives me a warm feeling.  She has changed me for the better, even though I apparently still can't drive worth a damn.  She  reminds me constantly that there is a better part of me that hasn't made itself apparent, and urges me to find and release those nuggets from within.  We live day by day, and I know that she, like me, has at least experienced that dreadful passing thought that we are mortal, and a day may come when one of us will have to go on alone.  I think that cloud has made us appreciate each day a little more.  And we are wiser.  I guess the best way to describe that is to say that things that used to make us mad at each other, now make us laugh...with...each other.  We still hold hands, still snuggle on the couch, still in love with each other.

I worked with the Friends of Flight 93 organization in Pennsylvania, and had the chance to be with the families of those brave souls who went down in that field.  The most valuable lesson they taught me was that tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us, and so each day we are alive should be lived to its fullest.  We should never put off telling those special people in our lives how much they mean to us, to never let love go unexpressed.  And never let anger live a moment longer.  Words unspoken, actions untaken, relationships unhealed, those are really the only true regrets.

Today, I am a day further from my beginning, and a day closer to my end.  It is a day I will never get back, because time is the most ruthless of all.  I will go on, joyfully, into those coming days.  I will be thankful for what I have received and will not re-hash the past.  I will love passionately the brilliant colors of every coming sunset, and contemplate deeply the stars in the night sky.  After the journey of a lifetime, I have found my place in the universe.  And I am home at last.