I’m writing about three different people and three different perspectives on life this week. One of these people is early on the front nine of life, one is somewhere in the middle of the course, and one is deep on the back nine.
My then-nine-year-old nephew was given a questionnaire to fill out on his first day of school. One of the questions asked what he was most proud of in his life at that moment. He responded, “I’m proud that I have 5 sharpened pencils. I’m so glad to finally have all 5 sharp.”
That same year I went out to lunch with my mother and she told me that she doesn’t worry about anything anymore. She said that she can’t remember half the stuff she would worry about anyway. We talked about one of my uncles, who had just turned 79, and my mother commented, “Now that’s old!” She then remembered that she was 77. “But that’s not that old,” she protested. It’s all in the mind, I guess. Age really is just a number.
In a column in Parade, well-known writer Harlan Coben talked about going to his 30-year high school reunion. Looking around at all of the people he had grown up with, he was struck by how he was instantly transported back to his high school days. It floored him to realize that he and most of his classmates are in their late 40s, because he doesn’t feel that “old”.
“I’m 48 years old, not a kid anymore by any definition,” he wrote, “but here is a universal truth that every adult at some point will realize:
We are all always 17 years old, waiting for our lives to begin.”[1]
Have a great weekend,
Ro
[1] Harlan Coben, “Return of the Class of 80.” Parade magazine, 9-6-2010. http://www.parade.com/news/views/harlan-coben/100926-return-of-the-class-of-80.html