Each day when looking in the mirror I am motivated by what a see there—another thin line in my crow’s feet, perhaps a bit more spread of the incipient grey that seems hell-bent on its march across my hairline. Or even simply the aches and stiffness that appear to be perhaps just a bit more severe than last year.

I’m not old. Not really. Not in my own mind. Then again, what is old? I can think back over the years to different stages in my life as my own perceptions have shifted, and I can only smile. I remember when the older kids at church, the 16 &17-year-olds, were “old”. I remember when the suggestion of going on a date with a 30-year-old would have brought shudder to my spine. Now, well I’d be pleased at the prospect.

When hiking 31 miles with a full pack in the mountains was, difficult… not impossible. Swimming 7 miles was a challenge…not a death sentence. I chuckle now at past “glories” not taken for the blessing they were. It’s been said that health and vitality are wasted on the youth. But I disagree; I think it is, in fact, that glorious burst of spent energy and vitality, usually with naught but a few scars, and embarrassing stories to tell to show for it, that should be used as a motivator for the latter part of our lives.

Those early years should point out to us the frivolity of motion without purpose. And challenge us to do more now. I may not have the boundless energy I did at 16, or the unswerving optimism of 18, but it has been replaced by a drive and belief, tempered by experience, and, yes, pain. I’ve made more mistakes than a man should have a right to. I’ve hurt others and myself, failed, fallen short and paid the price. But in the end, I see a beginning.

W.C.R.