It is good to be old
In my twenties, I had wonderful, but rather stupid adventures.
In my thirties, I went searching for the manual on how to be an adult.
The forties were a decade of saying “Aha! So, that’s how that works!”
My fifties were the decade of thinking of how stupid I was in my twenties and thirties, but slowly realizing that regret is pointless, that gratitude is the source of joy and strength, and that loving and being loved is the point of life.
The sixties are the time of writing poetry because I finally really see the poetry in life.
It is also the time to support the hearts of others in their twenties, thirties, forties, and—even sometimes—fifties.
But here is a great mystery.
We know that the more gratitude one feels the greater the joy.
And the less time that we have the more grateful and happier we feel.
But is it because we have more to be grateful for,
Or because we have woken up to see how much we had to be grateful all along?
Oh sure, there are new aches and pains and new bottles of pills on the bedstand,
There may be a little delay in remembering where one’s keys are (When they are actually already in your pocket).
Or where you left your glasses
(When they are hanging around your neck!),
But you are grateful for this new day
And the many, many days that brought you here.
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