My sixtieth birthday and the country's 250th
have come and gone… Two measuring sticks, two milestones. America celebrated
with grandeur, and I celebrated quietly.
With optimism,
I plan on making it to an eighty handle, but I don't expect to climb over
eighty-five. That might sound morbid, but it is actually realistic.
Hell, I could have a grabber this week or
get hit by lightning in 2029 and never even see sixty-five. Like I chalked a
couple weeks ago, if you want to make God laugh, come up with a plan.
I would like to think I will finish my
career on top. Watch the Shepkids become good adults. Retire with enough health
to enjoy the freedom I have spent forty years working toward.
…And
if I never have to eat gruel in a nursing home, I will consider that another
blessing.
The
last quarter of life is a time to dare and endure. Not because the road gets
easier, but because you finally understand which roads are worth walking.
At twenty, I chased excitement.
At forty, I chased responsibility.
At sixty, I will start
chasing ordinary days.
A strong black cup of coffee before
sunrise. Nipping at the Shepkids for doing stupid crap. Listening to all my weekly
shows on the radio. A cigar and a glass of bourbon. A mind that can still read
a book. A healthy body and a clear conscience. Having enough money to sleep
well at night.
I have spent
enough years worrying about becoming somebody. These next years are about
simply becoming the best version of that man.
So today isn't about turning sixty last
week. It is about waking up on July 6th and going back to work.
There are still
bids and offers to hit and lift, kids to encourage, prayers to say, books to
write, cigars to smoke, ballgames to listen to, and chalkboards to fill.
The milestone is behind me now.
The road is still in front of me.
So, let's keep moving.
Gusto and astonishment, you gorgeous Chalkheads. Gusto and
astonishment.
