In less than 2 hours, I turn 60. I'm grateful to have made it this far; sad, but grateful.
But I feel like once it happens, the clock will start ticking. It's morbid, it's most likely completely irrational, but although I love my life and enjoy it so much, I worry there isn't going to be much of it left.
I walked by a horse chestnut tree that I used to pass when I first moved to Brooklyn. It was on the way to work, and I would gather up those polished little wooden stones and pile them into a bowl and occasionally roll one around my hand and admire it.
I went back 30 years later, eager to rekindle those old days, but there were no nuts. I was depressed.
Today as I limped by slowly and unsteadily on my gimpy knee, I looked over, and there they were: some horse chestnuts scattered on the ground. I leaned down, grabbed as many as I could and put them in my pocket. It was the happiest I've been in a long time.
I know this sadness will pass; the wheel will turn, it's always another day. I'll get older, maybe I'll survive a lot longer.....