Once before I resented getting older, in the midlife crises of middle age. This time, as I approach 60, the resentment is deeper, more substantial. Scores of irreversible changes are etched on my soul: the old home vacant , friends gone, body softened, Dad dead, dog graying.

Truth also weighs me down. This is not the truth of science but the things once veiled by youth and optimism that now lay raw and smelly on the table in front of me. Mistakes made, people trusted, family pain, opportunities missed.

Thoughts about irrelevance rumble through my brain as I forget, sputter, grasp, hesitate. Younger people are leading and making decisions as I am slackening.

Then I find these words “How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days. (John Burroughs).  I have a choice and decide to dance to the tune of the universe.