What most people call middle age is technically not. It’s beyond the mid-point in your life. Statistically, you are just about done. Many use it to start anew; get a second trophy wife; find a cure for male pattern baldness or at least a company that produces infomercials to that effect; or lose weight and then find it again.
As I turned 50 this past November, I realized I am in the final quarter of my life. Oddly enough I did not want to run out and adopt foreign babies — I made my own foreigners. I did not want to find God; He had already found me a long time ago and fortunately has me on GPS no matter how hard I try to get away. I did not suddently desire to have a steamy romance with a former member of the clergy, or travel to Paris, nor drink water from an eons-old glacier, nor wait in the green room at The Tonight Show, nor walk the green carpet at The Grammy Awards….. been there done those. I started to tell my friends that I felt at peace and that there wasn’t anything really that I needed to do before I died, supposedly, statistically in about 1/4 of a century. They said that was morbid, that I am young and full of life.
Well, what is life but an orchard of little moments stitched together by time, space and the heart; each one so infinitely small and yet their product so grand as to mystify most of the entire human race past, present and future.
Being at the age where you can remember more years than years you have left feels odd. It is scary as much as it is a relief to know that you may not have time to make all those mistakes over again.
So welcome to my Final Quarter, both the blog and journey. I will check back often and hope to get from your thoughts on what you would do or are doing with your final 25 or so years on the planet. If I miss you here, hopefully I will catch you on the other side.
Simply, L
