Last Sunday, I turned 50.
Getting one day older is no concern. But the passing of a decade in a blur is not to be taken lightly.
When I remember my life at 40, I had a lot more hair and still looked desirable. Maybe I still do look desirable to some but mirrors don’t have the power to convince us of this. I can take quixotic measures to try to cover my receding hairline with a few pathetic strands of hair but I just can’t succeed.
Also, at 40, my two closest friends were still alive. Within four months, they had both died under tragic circumstances that appeared out of nowhere. We cannot value our friendships enough.
We hear a lot of talk about bucket lists these days. The other day on a streetcar, I heard a young girl telling her friend, “I’m putting skydiving before I’m 16 on my bucket list.”
This amused me in two ways. First, I thought she was too young to have a bucket list. Secondly, I thought that if skydiving were a sample of what she puts on her bucket list, then she may not make it to her 16th birthday.
But, at 50, people must contemplate bucket lists all the time. I made up mine shortly after my best friend died. The fact that he left me a considerable amount of money helped. I have been able to use the money to fulfill such travelling goals as visiting the Galapagos Islands.
Although I have self-published two books now, the last thing on my bucket list is to actually publish a book. However, these things take time. I have another idea for a children’s book so I’d better get started.
Maybe I’ll be finished before I’m completely bald.