Getting Old

I was standing in line at a hospital and the man in front of me said his birthdate was 1919 or something like that.

I almost started crying.

Not because I felt compassionate for this lonely soul, but because the thought crossed my mind, “I could live to be ninety.”

It had been a while since I’d had any expectations of growing old, but the fact is… I still have a pretty good chance.

And that quite honestly freaked me out.

Because right at that moment I was trying to deal with some particularly hard-to-swallow health news and thinking a lot about my previous decade… which had been pretty tough.

“I am so tired.”

The thought of enduring another six decades sounded too exhausting.

Because death I’d come to terms with… but six more decades like the past one seemed like more than I could handle.

I had already lived so many lives, I didn’t know if I had the strength for many more.


I just realized that my birthday is this week.

It’s got me thinking about this stuff once again… and I realized something…

I’m not scared anymore.

I’ve changed my outlook on life… it’s no longer something to be endured (even while enjoying the little things), but it is an adventure.

I don’t always stay in that frame of mind, but my overall perspective has changed.

And with it, my fears about the future have been replaced with anticipation.

Yeah, I know it’s going to be tough.

But no great story ever comes without difficulty.

And no great hero ever just sat there while the dragon slow-roasted him.

The real hero gives the dragon the finger, jumps on and enjoys the ride.