I was born in 1957.
In August I will be sixty-nine. Next year, I will turn seventy.

I don’t experience this as a distant milestone.
I experience it as an entry point.

I am already in the period of preparing for my eighth decade.
From now until my eightieth birthday, I see this as a deliberate span of life.

Not a winding down, and not a rush to make something happen, but a time of conscious choice.

This is the decade in which I choose what nourishes me.
That means eating well enough to support strength rather than control.
Moving my body sufficiently, not excessively.
Resting without guilt.

Spending time in nature because it steadies me. I have four acres of woodland where I spend extended periods from spring through autumn.

Staying connected to people, without forcing myself into busyness or visibility that drains me.

It also means sharing what I know in ways that feel true.
Offering depth rather than output.
Creating spaces and groups that can become well-established, not hurried, not dependent on constant energy.

I am not trying to become memorable.
I am trying to become aligned.

I am also choosing to claim the word old.

At sixty-eight and a half, I am old.
If I don’t say that now, when would I ever say it?

There is nothing diminished or shameful in that word.
To claim old is to stop postponing permission.
To live with fewer justifications.
To care for myself without apology.
To contribute without needing to prove.

This is not a retreat from life.
It is a deeper inhabiting of it.

This is me, preparing my eighth decade with intention.