It’s my birthday so I’m feeling pensive. Not because I’ve reached the age of (guess) and find that a bit grim, but because I am this age and could die happy right now if required to do so.
For that feeling, I point to second chances.
We are a youth-worshiping culture, and I do respect the role of youth. New insights come from the young because the new generation must form their own band like lions are obliged to leave their birth pride. Without the infusion of fresh ideas and viewpoints, nations and cultures die of inertia. Note Rome, a safe example…
But, despite the culture, not all enjoyed a rewarding youth or even had satisfying middle ages. Some find the greatest fulfillment in the later years.
I fell into the latter category.
In 2000, I gave myself a millennium present and retired. Most people find this daunting. It has a certain unsettling aspect, suggestive of mortality. But I banished any idea of some love affair with that skinny guy holding a scythe and opted to try something I set aside decades ago in favor of earning enough for a decent diet and a roof over my head. I sat down and wrote a book. The first never got finished. The second bombed. I wrote another. In 2003, my first medieval mystery was published by Poisoned Pen Press.
Was I happy at this second chance? Am I still happy after eight more of these books?
See that crazy little old lady dancing the Charleston?
OK, so I’m not that old, but you get the point. My second chance came later in life, but who cares? Maybe the joy of doing something I always longed to do tastes sweeter because of the time of life, but the main thing is that second chances can happen at any time.
Please don’t forget that!