A year ago, at not-quite-64, I embarked on a dream trip to Europe to travel with my daughter for three weeks. We delighted in Barcelona’s exuberant holiday lights at Christmas, and joined thousands of revelers flowing down the Champs-Élysées on New Year’s Eve in Paris. I will always smile to remember the evening in Siena, Italy, when we dined beside a duo singing “Love Potion #9” in Italian, and disco lights bounced off the ancient walls.
It’s a privilege to have the means and time to travel, and I feel grateful that I am able to do that. We all need to seize the day in all the ways we yearn to, in all the ways we can. Especially when you wake up one day and think, “How on earth did I get to be 64 years old?” Suddenly the remaining seasons are countable, and unaccountably precious.
I dedicate this blog post to my sweet brother Bruce, who didn’t get to explore the possibilities of his 60s. We lost him on November 2nd, the day after his 58th birthday. But I will always have this memory of a sunny southern California day when he and Arthur and I marveled at the mass of succulents in the now-gone Succulent Cafe.
This blog is a space to celebrate those who are lucky enough to enter their 60s in good health, and who have the inspiration to pursue new passions. Like this mysterious hallway in Gaudi’s Casa Batllo in Barcelona, it’s not always clear which way to go or where you will end up, but the path is an essential, powerful piece of the journey.