I recently read somewhere, and it might have been fiction, that you’re not a senior until you’re 62. I turned 62 in March. How in the world did I ever get here? This river of life my boat has been traversing has been moving at a fearsome speed while I drifted unaware, content to celebrate the spring blooms, to listen to the music of the summer rains, to contemplate the floating leaves as they fall from the fiery trees, and to marvel at the magic and beauty when I discover, upon dawn, a pristine snowfall blanketing the ground and decorating the bare limbs of trees. My life moved on all the while, and I wasn’t paying attention.

Maybe it is fiction.

I’m going to have to change the subtitle of my original blog, “Random Thoughts from Midlife,” to “Senior Moments.” Maybe it will be more lighthearted and humorous. Maybe the last quarter of my life will be more like the first without all the hard work and angst that happened in-between. There will be more good-byes. I know that now. But maybe, like most things in life, it will get easier to say good-bye with experience. Maybe it will be easier to surrender to the inevitability of loss. I don’t know. I can only hope.

All I know is that my boat is still on this river, and it is still moving, carrying me forward. This boat only moves in one direction. Reverse is not an option.

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