I am 77 years young, or old, depending on how I’m feeling on the day I tell you. This stage in my life comes with a cart full of memories, chock full of a fine mixture of joy, pain, regret, wins and losses. It is a time, for me, of counting my blessings. The mistakes I’ve made have not catapulted my life into disaster, but have made the road a bit rockier than I’d have liked. The good deeds I’ve done, like volunteering in prisons and teaching in inner city schools, have blessed others and opened me to compassion and an appreciation for the challenges those less fortunate than myself are burdened with.
I’ll be honest, the world situation—wars raging, hate and lies going unchecked, despots ruling and our unchecked climate wreaking havoc with what used to be fairly mild weather events—has me not looking forward to another year of the same. So I’m going to go all Pollyanna and say, “Isn’t it fabulous that people seem to be so much nicer lately?” and “I’m so glad we have this climate thing harnessed and we’re taking a long view of the impact we have on the earth’s systems,” and, “Isn’t it great that speaking truthfully is the new standard?”
I am entitled to my delusions and I wish, I hope, these delusions are a portend of the future. I wish blessings for all in 2025.
Walks Across 