I shall turn 50 tomorrow which does not worry me at all. Not having set goals financial or personal that needed to be achieved by a date certain, I am free to pursue my open-ended objectives: a happy marriage, kids who seek success for their own fulfillment and not for the greater glory of their parents, friends who share universal values but present them in novel and fun packages, a dog who is always happy to see me, and the sort of work at which one does not eagerly count the days to retirement.
As the philosopher-poet George Santayana wrote, “For these once mine, my heart is rich with these.” There is but one aspect I fear. In the Pyrrhic battle against aging but not age, I put in my time at the gym and its sweaty blend of weights and technology. I have long since resigned myself to punching my true body weight into treadmills, cross-trainers and stationary bicycles, and I had little trouble entering “49” this time last year. However, I can’t quite yet see myself entering “50” tomorrow. Perhaps for all sorts of good reasons, I should get to the gym still tonight.