December 26, 1944.
I’m 72-years-old—just half way to 144.
Here’s an aging paradox: those first 72 years zoomed past in a hurry, but the next 72 (or whatever) rolls along and stretches slowly up ahead. I have things to do.
And this is weird: this is as old as I’ve ever been, and I’ll never be this young again.
Even though I’m old, death doesn’t bewitch or fascinate me. Living relentlessly demands so much energy and attention—it feels way heavier, for a while longer.
For me this is the year of Sanctuary, Organizing, Resisting, and Rising Up!
I’ll be there! Join!