Sunday Morning
I can tell I’m feeling good these days because my mind is swirling with ideas. Things to do. With my yard. With my music. With Gatewood Press. And in addition to swirling, the ideas are actually being put into action. I’m executing. Things are happening. My drive is alive and back in gear. I actually went out this morning and looked at the next section of fence to undergo restoration. I’m ready to go. I’ll start breaking stuff down tomorrow.
And it’s the little things, too. I got a canopy for the deck by the pool for my birthday. I’ll put it up this morning. Get it done. If I think of something that needs doing, I move on it. Historically, that usually happens with me when I’m content, and I’m content these days. It started a while back but snapped into place on my birthday when I once again realized that age is just a number. It is what I am. There’s nothing I can do about it. Take it or leave it. And while my body may show the wear and tear, my mind is up and at’em. So, I’m good.
I think this marks the end of a seven year ache. Seventy was a big number. For the first time in my life, I felt old. My wife was in decline. She went into memory care. Then she died. I mourned. And the mourning was hard. But it was also a period of reconstruction. I confronted my mortality. I confronted my age. I raged a bit, wishing I were younger, wishing she were still alive. But then on my birthday, as I celebrated with friends and family, I felt a peace descend upon me. A calm. Acceptance. And a realization that what I needed to be happy was to be happy.