Once upon a time, I thought 54 was old. Really old. Really, really old.
But not any more.
Maybe because I’m 54 now, and it doesn’t feel much different that 40 or 45 or 50. Maybe because it doesn’t feel anywhere near as old as I thought it would feel. Or maybe because for the first time in 3 decades, Hiram and I have more freedom than we’ve had in years.
No kids to raise.
No higher education to pursue.
No pets to clean up after.
No mounting medical bills.
Or maybe 54 feels young and healthy for another reason, one that occurred to me not long ago. By age 54, my dad had completed his first year as a nursing home resident in need of total care. In the year leading up to my 54th birthday I did the following:
- Saw my first book get published and traveled all over the USA promoting it.
- Danced at both our children’s weddings.
- Spent a week on the side of a mountain.
- Tramped through the South Dakota prairie.
- Went to a high school class reunion.
- Celebrated friends’ birthdays and weddings.
- Applauded when my youngest niece graduated from high school.
- Remembered loved ones at funerals.
- Watched our new church building go up.
- Went tubing at Spirit Lake with my cousins.
- Roasted a dear friend at his retirement party.
- Walked into worship every Sunday on my own two legs.
All things my father couldn’t do when he was the age I am now.
All things I take for granted every day.
All things that make me grateful to be 54 years young.
