The Birthday Gift I Wish I’d Given Back
Or what 47-year-old me would say to 40-year-old me
I am now 47 — just a few months from 48. I’ve found that as birthdays advance, you seem to place less importance on them. Or, maybe, as you approach 50, you hope they come less frequently.
Still, here we are. A man in his late 40s who remains youthful, hopeful, and yet — well, fearful.
Sure, in this past year, I’ve completed two half marathons with my daughter (16).
And, yes, at this stage in life, I’m doing much of what I set out to do — that is, I’m teaching and writing and earning a sustainable living from that combination.
Still, though, there is that reality — that in all likelihood, even at this age, I’ve lived at least as many years as I can expect to have left. Certainly, I’ve lived more physically good years than I have to look forward to.
And then, I read this post — from the amazingly brilliant Dana Leigh Lyons — who is publishing these days primarily on Substack.
And it made me think — yes, 7 years — the years from 40–47 — that’s a lifetime.
I often feel like I’ve lived 20 years since I turned 45.
And, well, it’s comforting to know that others may feel the same.
