Emily Dickinson said “That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.” I can spend my days, even moments of my days, bemoaning the fact that I am 60. I could easily slide into a little funk of regret, remembering and resentment. I could spend half a day staring at the road, wondering who comes and goes and what their lives are like. These days and hours and moments will never come again. I am certainly not opposed to losing oneself in a cup of hot coffee and downtime on the porch, but that is something completely different. Those moments are of value. They build into me. The other time lost is simply that, time lost that takes a part of me along on that road that never circles back.
There have been pockets of time in my life that I call “golden moments”. These are rare but they are glorious. However, the other normal moments of life must count. The smile exchanged with a stranger at the park, the text from one of my sons asking about my day, the first red tomato on the vine, great claps of thunder at midnight and rain pelting my window. These exact moments in time will never come again and I must remember that they are sweet indeed.