Turning Sixty-Six

Yesterday was my 66th birthday.

It was significant, like turning 21, primarily because it changed my status. Then I could drink legally. Now I can retire with full Social Security benefits.

Birth is profound, even though there are thousands of humans born every day and who knows how many other living creatures. Every birth is profound. Taking the materials of nature and through divine touch or the more easily explainable interaction of chemicals and genetic code and – well, you probably understand the science better than I – a being is born.

Attribute life to what you will, the only miracle I’m sure I’ve experienced was watching my wife give birth to my daughter.

That and the miracle of experiencing each moment of each day.

Death too is profound, even though there are thousands of humans who die every day and who knows how many other creatures. Every death is profound. A life, something “living”, has been extinguished. A light, a flame, a spirit, a soul, something generative, has passed on.

In between birth and death is ordinary living. It is tempting to place more worth on certain days or events, like a 66th birthday or the miracle of a daughter’s birth. The older I become, however, the more I believe in and the more I have sought to experience the “sacrament of the present moment”, as Jean-Pierre de Caussade has written.

Each “this moment”, and now “this one”, and now “this one” is precious and unique and not-to-be-missed.

Turning 66 is a time for reflection.

This is what I wrote on Facebook this morning, after such caring birthday greetings yesterday from people I have known for weeks or decades:

"Friends and family make life rich. Relationships are worth more than gold and each of you has been a treasure trove I re-find daily. I could not be more grateful. Thank you so much for the birthday wishes! "

The miracle of the moment, the richness of relationship, the satisfaction of service.

Hard to overstate the worth of these.

I feel richly blessed. Though I am a member of AARP, I don’t plan to retire for a few years, and I hope to live here and now and fully present and in the moment as much as I am able for as long as this miracle of my life plays out.

But no matter. This morning, sitting on my back porch and watching birds – even a hummingbird this morning – bantering about, is more than enough. It is profoundly rich.

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