Like father like son

I'm on a high because he's there too. (Photo from

I’m on a high because Dude’s there too.
(Photo from

Age is only a number, albeit one that gets bigger with every passing year.  A number that is suppose to celebrate the time we’ve spend on this spinning blue ball.  A number that should be indicative of our experience, of lessons learned, mistakes made.  So why is it the cause of so much anguish and turmoil for some people?  (Present company excluded.)  The answer probably lies in the fact that age is also a timer counting down our own mortality.  The end of the road.  The kicking of the bucket.  Death.  And then whatever you consider might lie beyond that final breath. (Morbid much?)

Being on a journey to our inevitable demise shouldn’t imply that we settle into a casual stride on route to the final date with the grim reaper.  The journey should be an adventure where we pause at places that’s off the beaten track.  Taking little detours as often as we can.  Making the most of the number you have, as each one only last a year.  Growing old should be fun, a process of flipping the bird to Father Time.  And not because of vanity but merely because we need to re-establish general consensus of what age actually means.   Continue reading