53.
That´s my age. At least on Friday, when it becomes “official.” But I´ve never been all that concerned with the numbers and instead, more concentrated on the Life itself. And yet, despite having hit some of the milestones I´d set for myself: I can now say that I am a poet, a psychologist, a priest, a parent, and a political activist, (we can discuss why these “p” words are so important later) I realize my life is still under construction. That I do not see making it somewhere, or hitting “the mark” and then settling back and reminiscing with friends about how I “made it.” I see instead, that what I´ll get to is another hill-top among a series, separated by valleys, and celebrated not by the accomplishment of hitting the top of some final hill, but that I´m still travelling towards that inevitable sunset.
A life under construction. Put together one experience at a time, filled with setbacks and accomplishments, wrapped in a blanket of interests and dreams, and labored upon methodically. Never quite completed, until it´s end.
I like that.
A Deliberate Life 