That inexplicable force; do you grasp its essence, yearn for its dance, or shudder at its whisper?

In the wise words of our dear Dad,
“The number doesn’t mean SH*T”.

When it comes to age.

CHANGE, the timeless melody echoing through existence, its only constant: the inevitability of its arrival, painting the world in hues of transformation. I can say with all honesty, I don’t always love it.

We can be ‘ON’ the hill, but that doesn’t mean we have to be ‘OVER’ the damn thing!

In the dance of existence, certain changes waltz in gracefully. Yet, there are moments when change storms in like a tempest, its force unyielding, like the day I turned sixty. The grand ‘six-oh’ had been a persistent whisper, akin to a loyal dog at my heels. I’d shoo it away, dismiss its advances, until the day arrived when I had no choice but to swing open the door and welcome it in. There it sat, raising a glass in self-congratulation, an uninvited yet inevitable guest.

Six arrived, carrying a duffel bag laden with enigmas. Admittedly, the bag had arrived on my doorstep a few years earlier; I had tossed it into a forgotten corner, oblivious to its contents. It wasn’t until I mustered the courage to unzip its secrets that I realized its power to conjure forth both the unwelcome and the unforeseen. It proved to be a vessel of mixed delights and surprises. A true carnival of fate’s whimsy.

Once the duffel bag of change is bestowed, there’s no return policy. You can’t simply turn a blind eye. Change resembles a colossal cloud of glitter; once its set free, take cover, for it will shower its wrinkle dust upon your once-smooth complexion, leaving traces of its transformative touch.

Within my duffel bag, there lay a list, akin to the assembly instructions that accompanies an IKEA bookshelf-a manifest of all that one should possess, and with just enough cryptic language to bewilder the senses when attempting to decipher its purpose. What was written on that list you inquire? The mundane echoes of age, (how could I possibly be this old?) the existential ponderings of existence, (what the heck am I doing with my life?) and nestled within, an entire trove of potentialities and unexplored odysseys. (Travel, hobbies, friendships, family, downsize, upsize, and adventures).

Amidst the metamorphosis of change, a modest questionnaire nestled within the folds of the bag emerged. It presented only two paths: Embrace a bright existence to its fullest or retreat into the darker embrace of comfort, idly observing life’s grand spectacle through a windowpane. Swift as a child sprinting towards an ice cream parlour, I marked the first box fervently, employing a colossal marker to ward off any misinterpretation by fate’s handlers.

This satchel of age, it arrives in a myriad of shapes, colours, and textures, and it is meticulously crafted and prepared for dispatch to a city near you. Prepare your pens fellow number climbers; a colossal life awaits, bearing your name in every whisper of the wind.

Embark on your journey, for it is a canvas painted with endless possibilities. Despite the ticking clock, your youthful essence knows boundless horizons. When your duffel lands, tear it open, stand tall, and proclaim “Challenge accepted, I am unstoppable.”

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