I spent some time this afternoon looking at my hands, both the palms and the backs of them. I was struck by how much they seemed to show my age, and at first I was upset by this.
But then a strange thing happened. It happened just now. I realized that I like being this age, this old, this experienced. It has never hit me with the clarity that it just did. I like this.
I wonder what I can do with this knowledge and the freedom it seems to give me?